


Avengers Vandal

by awesomesockes, whumphoarder



Series: Christ, What Now? [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: American Vandal - Freeform, Banter, Dick Jokes, Documentaries, Domestic Avengers, Gen, Humor, Immaturity, Mystery, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Overuse of Red Bull, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Pranks and Practical Jokes, References to Illness, Spring Break, Stan Lee Cameo, Team as Family, Vandalism, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-12-30 02:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18306287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomesockes/pseuds/awesomesockes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder
Summary: On the afternoon of February 22nd, 2019, fourteen dicks were spray painted onto Tony Stark’s property. Shortly thereafter, Clint Barton was accused, convicted, and banished from the Avengers compound, despite a distinct lack of physical evidence that he committed the crime. But Peter and Ned believe there’s been foul play.This story follows their investigation.Or, Avengers Vandal: a Cockumentary by Ned Leeds & Peter Parker





	1. The Hard Facts

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to [Sally](https://sallyidss.tumblr.com/) and [Cat](https://xxx-cat-xxx.tumblr.com/) for beta reading, ideas, and encouragement!

The video begins in a small, windowless office in the compound’s basement. The room appears to be used for storage more than anything else, with boxes stacked against the back wall and a light coating of dust over all the furniture. Peter is sitting at a desk in front of an open laptop, which is tilted so that both he and the screen are visible in the shot. On the computer, a Skype call is currently in progress, showing Clint sitting on a hay bale in the corner of his barn in Iowa.

Peter glances back in the direction of the camera and flips his thumb up and down questioningly. “Ned, you ready to roll?”

“Yep, already rolling,” Ned’s voice confirms from off-screen.

“Alright.” Peter turns his attention back towards the Skype call. “Please state your name and occupation for the camera.”

The man gives a nod. “Clint Barton, also known as Hawkeye.” He brushes a stray piece of hay off of the shoulder of his flannel shirt. “Full-time SHIELD agent, part-time superhero.”

“Perfect,” Peter says with a small smile. “And can you state for the record why we are conducting this interview today?”

Clint scowls. “Because Stark is a fucking asshat.”

With a cough, Peter shifts slightly in his seat. “Um, right. Can you explain in your own words why you were forcibly removed from the Avengers facility on the morning of Saturday, February 23rd, 2019?”

“Because I got accused of something _I didn’t fucking do_ ,” Clint says bitterly. “All I know is that I went to bed Friday night as a trusted member of this team, and woke up Saturday morning to Tony Stark whipping off my covers and aiming a gauntlet at my face, ordering me to get the fuck out of his compound before he removed me piece by piece.”

“So at the time, you’re claiming you had no idea why Mr. Stark was evicting you from the compound?” Peter clarifies.

“No, he wouldn’t tell me anything!” Clint retorts. “He just kept insisting that I knew the reason, but _I didn’t._ And then before I knew it, there I was, standing outside the building in the freezing rain at four in the morning.”

Off camera, Ned mutters, “Yikes.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Clint says with an eye-roll. “You try getting an Uber driver to pick you up from the side of the road and haul your ass to some shady motel when you’re only wearing a soaking wet t-shirt, flip-flops, and Hulk-print pajama bottoms. ”

“And at what point did you find out what had happened?” Peter asks.

“Not until the next week! I tried calling everyone—Tony, Nat, Sam, Cap, Bruce… and no one would pick up! By Monday morning I just gave up and took a bus back to Iowa. I didn’t find out for days that it was because Stark had FRIDAY block my number on all of their phones.”

“So you’re claiming you had nothing to do with the incident on Friday afternoon?” Peter presses.

Clint throws his hands up in frustration. “No! Nothing! I swear to god!”

“So if it wasn’t you, then who could it be?”

“Honestly?” he scoffs as a goat bleats from somewhere in the barn's background. “I think Stark did it himself.”

**[Cut]**

“What possible reason could I have to spray paint fourteen dicks on my own property?” Tony demands.

The scene has changed to Tony sitting at the desk in the basement office, looking directly into the camera. A hand-painted sign on the wall over his head has now been added, reading “The Interrogation Chamber”.

“I don’t have time for this, kids,” Tony goes on, starting to get up. “It was Barton, case closed.”

“No no, we’re not accusing you of anything!” Peter says quickly from off camera, causing Tony to pause. “We’re just trying to get the full story.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “The full story is that on February 22nd, at some point between 4:51 and 5:32 pm, Clint Barton broke into my private garage and spray painted dicks on every vehicle inside—causing over a hundred thousand dollars worth of damage—all for some kind of fucking prank.” He leans back against the chair, eyes narrowing. “But I’m not laughing.”

“And you have _evidence_ showing that it was Mr. Barton who vandalized”—there’s the sound of papers rustling from Peter’s side of the desk—“thirteen cars and the prototype for the Mark 45 Iron Man suit?”

“Who the hell else would it be?” Tony snaps. “The guy is an actual twelve-year-old.”

**[Cut]**

The documentary cuts to a montage of short interview clips, featuring various members of the team. At the bottom of each clip, a text box shows the name of each witness.

 **Thor, Son of Odin:** “Ah, yes, Barton,” Thor hums to himself. The god is standing in the kitchen, spreading mayonnaise on a piece of bread. “One time he superglued the handle of Mjölnir to my hand without my knowledge so that when I next attempted to throw it, I hurled myself into a tree.”

 **Steve Rogers:** “One time Clint replaced all the filling in my package of Oreos with toothpaste and tried to convince me they were just mint flavored,” he says as he hooks another punching bag to the ceiling of the gym.

 **Sam Wilson:** “He once hid a dead fish in the trunk of my car,” he reports, walking down a hallway. “That was three years ago, and on hot days I swear I can still smell it.”

 **Natasha Romanoff:** “Clint once stole a bag of M&Ms from my room and mixed it with Skittles,” she says while she reassembles her recently polished 9mm handgun. “He picked the wrong week of the month to mess with my chocolate stash.” Picking up the weapon’s recoil pin, she adds, “He hasn't done that again.”

 **Colonel Rhodes:** “He pulled an actual Saran-Wrap-on-the-toilet-seat prank in my bathroom. Like, who even does that? What is this, the nineties?”

 **Bruce Banner:** “One time Clint tied my shoelaces together while I was napping on the couch so that when I stood up, I tripped and hit my knee on the coffee table.” Bruce stares off, a faraway look in his eyes. “The Other Guy didn’t like that...”

**[Cut]**

Back to Clint’s Skype call:

“...So you can understand why you might be one of the first suspects,” Peter says casually.

“Just because I pull the occasional good-natured prank on people doesn’t mean I would vandalize fourteen vehicles!” Clint retorts. “My pranks don’t hurt anyone.”

“Mr. Rogers said he threw up for an hour after the Oreo incident,” Peter points out.

Clint huffs out a quick laugh. “Okay but to be fair, one, I didn’t know he could even get sick, and two, I didn’t think he would continue eating them after the first cookie. That’s kind of on him.”

“Dr. Banner says he had an eighty-day incident-free streak going before the shoelace thing.”

Clint shifts uncomfortably on his hay bale. “...Alright, that one was unfortunate.”

“And there’s also the fact that you have somewhat of a history of drawing obscene images,” Peter adds. “Isn’t that right?”

Clint shrugs. “I might’ve drawn a dick or two over the years. Who hasn’t?”

**[Cut]**

The documentary cuts to another collection of video clips:

 **Bruce Banner:** “The dick-drawer of the compound?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Clint. Definitely Clint.”

 **Happy Hogan:** “Oh yeah. Clint draws dicks. No question.”

 **Sam Wilson:** “Have you seen this? Look at this.” He opens the refrigerator, beckoning for the camera to come closer. In the door, there is a row of various condiments, the label of each one sporting a cartoon-like drawing of a penis in permanent ink. “And he hasn’t even been here for like, a month!”

 **Colonel Rhodes:** “I have yet to sit through a mission debriefing with him without a dick ending up on the conference room whiteboard. Sometimes in Sharpie.”

 **Natasha Romanoff:** “On my birthday last year, he wallpapered every surface in my bathroom with post-it notes, each one featuring a dick,” she says. “Honestly, I was just impressed he figured out when my birthday was.”

 **Steve Rogers:** “He drew one on my shield once,” he remarks as he stands in his bedroom, folding laundry. “Do you know how hard it is to scrub Sharpie off of vibranium?”

 **DUM-E:** (The robot gives a low-pitched whir as FRIDAY’s security footage archive shows Happy muttering curses while he scrubs a drawing of a penis from the robot’s surface.)

**[Cut]**

Back to Tony’s interview:

“New Year’s Eve, 2016, Clint drew a dick on my face while I was”—Tony glances around the camera at the two teenagers—“uh, while I was napping in the corner. The point is, he is a _known_ dick-drawer. If anyone is going to be spray painting cocks on Lamborghinis, it’s Barton.”

“That seems to be the consensus around here,” Peter replies over the sound of papers being shuffled. “Mr. Barton’s, shall we say, _colorful_ history of pranking and phallic art contributions have earned him a reputation that is impossible to ignore. However, in this instance, he claims to be innocent.”

Tony gives him an amused look. “The last time I have Barton on camera that day, he’s walking east down corridor 5B in the direction of FRIDAY’s mainframe at 4:51 pm, right before surveillance was cut throughout the compound. Sometime in the next forty-one minutes, the crime had to have been committed. No one else was in that vicinity.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s an awfully big coincidence if you ask me.”

“So FRIDAY was down for forty-one minutes, and then came back online. Wouldn’t she then have realized something had happened?”

“She _should_ have,” Tony says, glaring, “but this asshole went into her systems and actually altered her coding. Not only were the garage cameras permanently disconnected, but she has no recollection of those forty-one minutes even _existing_. She jumps straight from 4:51 to 5:32. That chunk of time in between is like”—he makes a small gesture with his hands, as if something is exploding—“poof. Gone.”

**[Cut]**

Clint’s Skype interview:

“Stark thinks I did _what_?” Clint balks.

Peter repeats patiently, “That you altered FRIDAY’s coding to cause—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Clint cuts the kid off. “Hold up. _Altered her coding_? How would I possibly know how to do that?”

“Well you are a spy, aren’t you?” Peter reminds him.

Clint shakes his head firmly. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. I sit on stakeouts and shoot arrows at bad guys. I don’t have the slightest clue how to hijack Stark’s precious AI—I can barely check my email. Natasha can confirm.”

**[Cut]**

“It’s true,” Natasha confirms, glancing up from the novel she’s reading. “He sucks at technology. He still watches movies on VHS. And that’s only because his six-year-old kid taught him how to program the VCR to record off the TV.”

**[Cut]**

“So obviously,” Clint reiterates. “It couldn’t have been me.”

“Okay. Just to clarify here,” Peter says slowly. “Your defense is that you’re _too dumb_ to have overcome the obstacle of FRIDAY’s surveillance?”

Clint huffs, seeming slightly offended. “I wouldn’t say _dumb_ , I’m just not particularly tech savvy. I’m not even sure where the mainframe is.”

**[Cut]**

Tony’s interview:

Tony gives the camera a skeptical look. “He could be faking that. No one is that technologically inept. Well, except for Capsicle, but that guy’s been on ice for a few decades.”

“But this is all circumstantial evidence,” Peter points out. “Walking in the direction of the mainframe doesn’t prove that he vandalized anything, and his history seems to indicate he’s more interested in quick gags than elaborate pranks.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “He literally threatened to do this once.”

Peter sounds caught off guard. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Summer of 2017,” Tony says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Right after I bought my new Ferrari.” He twists his chair around. “FRIDAY, play the footage.”

Ned pans the camera over to the wall, on which Tony is now projecting a video from the phone’s screen.

The video shows Tony outside the compound, opening the door of his new sports car, a smug grin on his face:

 _“It’s a LaFerrari Aperta,”_ he remarks, gesturing for Bruce to sit. _“Zero to sixty in 2.5 seconds with a top speed of 217 miles per hour. It has a 6.3-liter 950 horsepower V-12 engine.”_

Clint lets out a low whistle as Bruce climbs into the driver’s seat. _“Damn,”_ the archer comments.

 _“It’s really nice, Tony,”_ Bruce says, smiling as he bounces on the seat at bit. _“Comfy seats too.”_

Clint chuckles. _“Is it even gonna fit in the garage with all your other cars?”_

 _“If not I’ll just park it in your spot,”_ Tony replies. _“You can park outside.”_

Clint huffs. _“Try that and I’ll spray paint a dick on it.”_

The video clip ends and the projection disappears from the wall.

“See what I mean?” Tony asks, spinning the chair back to look at the camera.

“Well, did you ever park in his spot?” Peter asks.

“Of course. Who do you think I am?”

**[Cut]**

Clint’s Skype interview:

“Did I really say that?” Clint laughs out. “I literally don’t even remember saying that!”

“Well, it was almost two years ago,” Peter concedes. “And it did seem like you were joking, but the threat was there nonetheless.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “C’mon, we all joke constantly with each other. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It doesn’t exactly help your case, though.”

At Clint’s shrug, Peter produces a manila envelope from beneath the desk. He opens it to remove a photo of Clint, time-stamped February 22nd, 4:51 pm.

“Can you explain why FRIDAY has footage of you walking down corridor 5B in the direction of the mainframe right before her surveillance was cut?” Peter asks, holding the picture up to the laptop’s webcam.

Clint leans in closer to the screen and squints at the image before letting out a scoff. “Literally everything is down that hallway—kitchen, conference room, elevators, common area... the fucking broom closet is that way. That proves nothing,” he retorts, sitting back.

“So where were you going then?” Peter presses. “What were you doing?”

“I don’t know, it was a month ago,” Clint says with another shrug. “I usually go to the gym around that time.” His eyes narrow at the camera. “But I can tell you what I _wasn’t_ doing, and that was hacking Tony’s fucking AI.”

Peter writes down this information in his notes. “You’re claiming you were in the gym?” he clarifies. “Do you recall anyone else being in the gym that day to confirm?”

Clint thinks for a moment before letting out a deep sigh. “I’m not sure, but I don’t think so. But then again it’s hard to remember that far back.”

**[Cut]**

In the next scene of the documentary, Ned and Peter are alone in the office. This time the camera is angled at the opposite wall and both boys are visible in the shot. There is a large bulletin board affixed to the wall on which are pinned pictures of all of the inhabitants of the compound, as well as notes and photos from the crime scene. Beside it stands a portable rolling whiteboard that they’ve wheeled in from one of the conference rooms.

In giant block letters at the top of the board, Ned writes: WHO IS THE AVENGERS VANDAL?

“Okay, here’s what we know about that day,” Peter begins. He’s holding a large yellow legal pad and flipping through the pages. “The following people were at the compound on the morning of February 22nd.” He writes their names on the whiteboard as he lists them off. “Mr. Stark, Pepper, Natasha, Happy, Bruce, Sam, Steve, Thor, and, obviously, Clint.”

“Why was he there anyway?” Ned questions. “Doesn’t his family live in Iowa?”

“Yeah, but he has a room at the compound and stays here for a few days at a time occasionally for trainings and missions,” Peter explains.

“Alright, makes sense,” Ned agrees. “What do we know about the crime itself?”

Peter looks back at his notes. “So at 4:00 pm, Mr. Stark left the compound—driven by Happy Hogan—to attend a fundraising event for STEM education in public schools. At that time, FRIDAY confirms that his private garage was locked and all security systems were functional.”

As he speaks, Ned starts drawing a timeline on the left half of the board. “So Stark left at 4:00…” Ned says as he adds a label to the line. “And FRIDAY’s footage was cut at what time?”

“At 4:51 pm,” Peter replies, and Ned jots that down as well. “And she came back online at 5:32 pm. That leaves a forty-one minute window of time for the vandal to spray paint fourteen dicks on Mr. Stark’s property and exit the garage undetected.” He gestures to a collection of photos from the crime scene on the bulletin board showing the thirteen vandalized cars and the Mark 45 suit.

Ned writes ‘41 minutes’ on the board and circles it. “But the crime wasn’t discovered until…?”

Peter quickly flips through the notepad. “Until 3:39 am on February 23rd by Mr. Hogan, when he drove a mildly intoxicated Mr. Stark back into the garage to park the car.”

“So even though FRIDAY was back online for”—Ned quickly counts on his fingers—“nearly ten hours, she didn’t inform anyone of the vandalism in that time?”

“No, because all cameras to the garage were disconnected and the knowledge of their existence was deleted from her systems,” Peter replies.

Adding the time of discovery to the board, Ned asks, “How long after that was Barton banished?”

Peter glances back at the paper. “3:47 am.”

Ned snorts out a laugh. “Damn. Only eight minutes later?”

“Yeah,” Peter replies as Ned writes. “Outdoor security footage then shows Barton standing outside the compound in the rain for an additional eleven minutes. At 3:58 am, he appears to give up and orders an Uber, which takes him to a local motel.”

Ned points at a photo of a sketchy-looking motel pinned to the bulletin board. The neon sign outside the building reads ‘Mama Rosa’s Hideaway’.

“Then we have cell phone records showing that Barton attempted to place sixty-two calls to various members of the team over the next forty-eight hours.”

Pointing at a print out of Barton’s call history, Ned gives a low whistle.

“However, none of these calls were answered,” Peter goes on, “because his number had been blocked from all of their phones, courtesy of Mr. Stark.”

Ned un-pins a headshot of Barton from the bulletin board and attaches it to the top right side of the whiteboard with a magnet. “So that brings us to…”

Peter sets down the legal pad and picks up another marker before writing in all-caps letters: THE CASE AGAINST CLINT BARTON.

“So first off, there’s the fact he’s a well-known prankster,” Ned remarks as Peter draws a star on the board, followed by writing ‘Motive: prank’. “Everyone confirms this—including Barton himself.”

“True, can’t deny that one,” Peter says. He drops down one line and draws another star. “Also his history of dick drawing is extensively documented,” he says, writing ‘Fact: dick drawer’ on the board. “One time he took me for a test flight in SHIELD’s new fighter jet and drew three dicks in the sky with the jet stream.”

Ned grins. “Awesome. I love this guy.”

Peter draws another star on the next line. “And his alibi does sort of suck,” he continues. “How does he not remember what he was doing that afternoon? Like, ‘I think I was at the gym’? That’s pretty lame,” he says, adding ‘Alibi: gym’ to the board.

“Yeah but remember that was a month ago,” Ned points out. “Can  _you_ remember what you did a month ago on Friday afternoon?”

Peter screws his face up in thought. “Um… I think I went patrolling, and—no wait! Didn’t we have decathlon that night?”

“No,” Ned replies. “That was on Thursday. I remember because it was my mom’s birthday.”

“Oh yeah! You dropped her cake on the way to the table,” Peter says, laughing. “Nearly set fire to your dining room.”

“Okay okay, we’re getting off topic here,” Ned says, blushing. “Point is it’s hard to remember what happened on a specific day over a month ago.”

Peter scoffs. “I think I would have made a point of remembering if  _Tony Stark_ threw me out of his compound at four in the morning the next day. That doesn’t seem right to me.”

“But remember that Barton claims not to have known what he was even being accused of for over a week,” Ned points out. “That’s enough time to forget the details.”

“Hm…  _maybe_ ,” Peter hesitantly agrees, “but then there’s the whole issue of being caught on camera.” He adds ‘Access: ✓’ to his bullet list. “That’s a pretty big coincidence that he just so happened to be moving in the direction of the mainframe right before the feed got cut.”

“But he is telling the truth about everything in the compound being that direction,” Ned argues. He moves over to the bulletin board and points at a corridor on a blueprint of the compound labeled ‘5B’. “For instance, we have multiple clips from FRIDAY’s surveillance earlier in the day of him going to and from the kitchen.”

He points at five different pictures on the board, with timestamps of 10:02 am, 11:34 am, 11:59 am, 1:17 pm, and 3:12 pm. In each shot Clint is carrying a bowl or plate containing a different beverage or snack item. “He does snack an awful lot.”

“Hm…  I’m still not convinced,” Peter says. “It seems suspicious that he would be the only person in that area right before the cameras were cut. Besides, what about the threat he made?” he challenges, adding ‘2017 threat’ to the motive section of the list. “He literally  _described the crime_.”

Ned rolls his eyes. “That was like two years ago and it totally sounded like a joke. I say stuff like that to you all the time. We have to operate under the assumption that he’s innocent until proven guilty.”

“True,” Peter agrees. “But someone had to have done it. So if not Barton, who else could it be?”

Silently, Ned moves over to the nearly full board and writes in the lower right corner: THE CASE AGAINST TONY STARK.

Peter turns his head to lock eyes with his friend. “I think we’re gonna need another whiteboard.”

**[Cut]**

“Please state your name and occupation for the record,” Peter’s voice instructs.

“Tony Stark. Iron Man. Genius. Billionaire.” Tony’s eyes narrow at the camera. “Victim of a horrible crime.”

Peter continues, “And where were you on the afternoon of Friday, February 22nd, 2019?”

“Attending a charity fundraiser,” Tony replies.

“Can anyone confirm this?”

“Only about five hundred people. I gave a speech—it’s on YouTube.”

“And you’re claiming that you were gone the entire night?” Peter clarifies. “You didn’t come back to the compound for any reason?”

“I did not,” Tony confirms. “If I had, I would have throttled Barton’s ass clear to Canada.”

“It sounds like you might have a grudge against Mr. Barton,” Peter says casually.

Tony scoffs. “Yeah, no shit. He drew dicks on all my babies.”

“Well, we haven’t necessarily  _proven_ that it was Mr. Barton who vandalized your vehicles…” Peter begins. “There was no hard evidence that it was him, and yet you wasted no time in kicking him out.”

“That’s because  _he fucking did it_ ,” Tony says slowly. “Why are we still talking about this?”

“It’s common knowledge that you and Mr. Barton aren’t the best of friends, and according to my sources—”

Tony crosses his arms over his chest. “You have sources now?” he asks skeptically.

“...Alright, according to FRIDAY,” Peter corrects, “you’ve threatened to kick him out on multiple occasions, the last of which being when he got drunk and accidentally shot Dr. Banner in the shoulder with an arrow.”

“What are you saying, kid?”

“Also, people have reported that your morale has improved since Mr. Barton’s departure,” Peter says. “Is it true that you’re happier now that he’s gone?”

Tony’s expression is unreadable and his voice the epitome of calm. “Are you implying that I drew dicks on my own cars to frame Clint because I needed an excuse to kick him out of the compound?”

“Well…” Peter begins.

“Because that is the stupidest theory I’ve heard in my life,” Tony deadpans. “I’m a multi-billionaire and this is my own compound. I don’t need an excuse to kick anyone out—if I wanted him out, I would have done so.”

“So you deny that you had any involvement in the drawings?”

“I had absolutely no involvement,” Tony confirms. “And if you keep asking stupid questions, I’m going to revoke your camera privileges and this whole documentary of yours will be canceled.”

Peter coughs. “Right. Sorry. Just one more question for you.”

“Go on.”

“Hypothetically, just for a minute, let’s say it  _wasn’t_ Barton…” Peter suggests. “Is there anyone who might have a motive to pull a prank like this?”

Tony heaves out a sigh and leans back in his chair. “The only other person I could see doing this is Rhodey. Back in college, we used to—never mind. Anyway, it definitely wasn’t him.”

**[Cut]**

Now sitting behind the desk in The Interrogation Chamber is Colonel Rhodes, dressed in his formal military uniform, giggling.

“Are you ready now?” Ned asks, a little wearily, from behind the camera.

Rhodey wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and instantly sobers. “Yeah I’m good. What was the question again?”

“We just asked you to state your name and position,” Peter’s voice replies.

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Rhodey sits up straighter, all traces of humor leaving his features. “My name is Colonel James Rhodes—War Machine or Iron Patriot, whichever you prefer. I’m a former fighter pilot in the U.S. Airforce and currently serve as the military liaison for the Avengers Initiative.”

“Thank you,” Peter says. “And can you tell me what you were doing the afternoon of February 22nd, 2019 between 4:51 and 5:32 pm?”

“I was receiving this,” Rhodey says, pointing to a medal pinned on the right side of his jacket. “The ceremony was televised live from Washington D.C.—I recorded it, if you want to see it.”

“Yeah, that’s a pretty solid alibi,” Peter admits. “So you have no idea who could have drawn the obscene images on Mr. Stark’s property?”

Rhodey immediately dissolves back into laughter. “No, but whoever did it is my fucking hero!” he chokes out between laughs. “They really hit him where it hurts. Expertly done!”

“So you’re fully admitting to having a motive for the crime?” Peter asks, a hint of incredulousness in his voice.

“Sure, kid.” Rhodey wipes a tear away, still giggling. “Tony and I have been in an ongoing prank war since our MIT days, but nothing has ever topped this. Well, except possibly that one time with the pink thongs, but…” He cuts himself off, shaking his head firmly. “No, this is better. God, I  _wish_ it was me—I truly do. But sadly it was not.”

“Alright,” Peter says. “Motive aside for a moment, can you think of anyone else who would have access to Mr. Stark’s garage?”

Rhodey sighs, glancing up at the ceiling as he considers this. “Happy.”

**[Cut]**

Sitting in front of the camera, Happy drums his fingers against the desk impatiently. “Can we get this over with? I’ve got places to be.”

“It will only take a few minutes,” Peter assures. “Please state your name and position for the record.”

“Happy Hogan,” he replies, “Head of security and chauffeur.”

Peter scoffs a bit. “So this case is not looking too good for you, huh?”

“Watch it, kid,” Happy snaps. “I’m head of  _physical_ security—the technological system crap is on Stark, alright? And I wasn’t even here that day.”

“That’s actually my next question,” Peter says. “Where were you on February 22nd, 2019 from 4:51 to 5:32 pm?”

“Watching Stark give his speech at his fundraiser,” Happy retorts. “You can even see the back of my head in that YouTube video.”

“And you claim you were at the event the entire time?”

“Yup.”

“Didn’t leave for any reason? Maybe to pick something up or run an errand?” Peter fishes.

“Nope,” Happy says flatly.

“Can you confirm whether or not you have access to the private garage?”

“I’m his driver—of course I have access.”

“And it’s true that you were the one to discover the crime?” Peter goes on. “Can you describe Mr. Stark’s reaction?”

Happy’s eyes narrow. “I don’t feel comfortable repeating that to minors.”

Peter words his next question carefully. “And is there anything Mr. Stark might have done to upset you recently? Anything work related, or…?”

“If you’re suggesting that I drew dicks on the cars that I myself have to drive, you’re off your rocker,” Happy says irritably. “Besides, who do you think had to set up appointments to get them all repainted? Because it was not Tony, let me tell you.”

“So, do you have any idea who might have had some sort of argument or disagreement with Mr. Stark?”

“I dunno what to tell you kid,” Happy grumbles. “I think your culprit is Barton. But if anyone would know the answer to that question, it would be Pepper."

**[Cut]**

“Thank you for agreeing to this interview,” Peter’s voice begins. “We really appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to assist in this investigation.”

Seated in the chair opposite the camera, Pepper glances down at her watch. “Peter, sweetie, you have eight minutes until I need to board a plane for Copenhagen. You might want to cut to the chase.”

“Right, right, of course.” Off camera, there’s the sound of papers shuffling. “Please state your name and position for the record.”

“Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries.”

“And where were you the afternoon of Friday, February 22nd, 2019?”

She pulls her phone out of her purse. “You’ll have to be more specific than that. I was about five different places that afternoon.”

“Specifically between 4:51 and 5:32 pm,” Peter clarifies.

Pepper scrolls through the device before flipping it around and laying it face up on the desk. The camera zooms in to focus on her calendar app, which contains a detailed list of her day’s activities on February 22nd, scheduled down to the quarter hour in a complicated-looking color-coded system. Each slot from 3:00-4:45 pm is labeled ‘SI shareholders meeting’ and the 5:00-6:30 pm slots are labeled ‘SDG board conference call’.

“So you were in meetings?” Peter questions. “Can anyone vouch for this?”

“Two different boards of directors.”

“So this fifteen minute window here.” Peter’s finger enters the shot as he points at the empty slot on the calendar between 4:45 and 5:00. “Where were you at this time?”

“I do have a bladder, Peter,” Pepper says with an amused look. “Also it’s a six minute walk from one conference room to the other. No time for dick drawing.”

“But no one can  _confirm_ that you were in the bathroom at this time?” he clarifies.

She raises an eyebrow at the kid. “I certainly hope not.”

“Right, right.” He clears his throat before continuing to his next question. “Were you, by any chance, upset with Mr. Stark on that day?”

She frowns. “I don’t think so. Why would I be?”

Peter hums. “Interesting.” His hand slides back into view, pushing a piece of notebook paper across the desk. “Because we have multiple sources indicating that might not be the case.”

Her frown deepening, Pepper picks up the paper and appears to skim through the short list. But after a few seconds, she starts laughing. “Really? This is the best you could come up with?”

Peter coughs again. “Um, well, I mean—”

“That he left parts of his armor on the bedroom floor and I tripped over them?” she says between giggles. “That Tony is two months behind on SI paperwork he needs to sign? That he forgot he was hosting twelve dignitaries at the tower the previous week and left everything to me?” She dissolves into further laughter, pushing the paper back across the desk. “Peter, none of this is new! I’ve been dealing with this longer than you’ve been  _alive!_ ”

“...Oh,” is all Peter says. His hand moves into the frame to retrieve the list and the sound of paper crumpling follows. “Of course.”

The laughter finally tapers off and she lets out a long sigh, getting to her feet. “Alright, that’s all the time I can spare. This was fun, boys,” she says genuinely. “I hope you find your culprit.”

“Wait, wait, before you go!” he calls after her. “One of the theories is that Mr. Stark did it himself in order to frame Barton. Do you have any thoughts on that?”

She turns back. “Tony is in love with his cars—he would never do anything to harm them.”

“So you believe Mr. Barton did it then?” Peter presses.

“I honestly have no idea,” Pepper says. “But whoever did it has some serious balls because you don’t even know the half of how pissed Tony was.” She pauses for a second before throwing in, “Actually, try Nat.”

**[Cut]**

“Please state your name and position for the record.”

“Natasha Romanoff, SHIELD agent,” Nat replies coolly as she applies a second coat of deep red polish to her fingernails. Her gaze flicks up over the camera to the back wall. “Nice board, boys.”

Ned pans the camera around to display the wall behind Peter, on which a web of red string has now been added to connect various photos and comments on the bulletin board.  “Thanks!” both boys say in unison.

The camera pans back to Natasha.

“Do you recall where you were on the afternoon of February 22nd, 2019 between 4:51 and 5:32 pm?” Peter dives in.

“I was in the gym,” she replies, casually wiping a bit of polish from the corner of her cuticle with the opposite thumb.

“Can anyone confirm this?” Peter asks. “Besides FRIDAY, whose cameras were down?”

“Probably not,” Natasha answers simply. “I was alone.”

“Interesting.” There’s the sound of a pen scratching on paper. He goes on, “And how long were you there for?”

“About half an hour.”

“That seems short…” Peter mentions. “And kind of convenient.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “What are you implying, Peter?”

Peter sounds taken aback. “Oh. Um, sorry. I-I mean,” he stammers, “I wasn’t trying to imply that...uh, it’s just that for the sake of the investigation, we’re just trying to get as much information as possible.” He adds quickly, “But we’re not accusing you or anything! Uh, it’s just—”

“Relax, boys,” she cuts him off. “I get interrogated for a living.”

There’s a beat. “Uh, right,” Peter says, recomposing himself. “Um… so what were your thoughts on the vandalism itself?”

“Bit juvenile for my taste,” Nat remarks, moving on to the next nail. “But dicks are always funny.”

“Do you know of anyone who might have had a grudge against Mr. Stark?”

With a shrug, she replies, “Tony has his share of enemies.”

“And, uh, would you categorize yourself as one of those enemies?” he asks carefully.

“Not currently.”

“So there was a time when you  _would_ categorize yourself as an enemy?”

“That one night when I caught him eating the pint of Ben & Jerry’s Hunka Hulka Burning Fudge that I’d been looking forward to all day? That was an accurate description.” She smirks before adding, “But I would say we’re even now.”

Ned spins the camera around on Peter, who is barely containing his excitement as he jots a note on one of his papers. “Wait, so… are you insinuating that you got revenge on Mr. Stark in some way?”

The camera quickly turns back on Natasha, whose gaze is still trained on her nails. She’s on the second hand now. “It’s possible,” she says casually.

“When?” Peter demands. “How?”

Without looking up, she replies, “I don’t really see that being any of your business.”

“Oh, uh, sorry.” There’s more shuffling of papers. “Um, so obviously, Mr. Barton is the prime suspect at the moment,” Peter goes on. “You’ve known him longer than most people around here. Do you believe he could have done this?”

“No, I don’t,” she says simply.

“What makes you say that?”

“Clint’s not one to hide pranks,” she says. She finishes painting the last nail and screws the cap back on the bottle. “If he drew the dicks, he would be bragging about it, not denying it.”

“Even though it would get him in trouble?”

“That’s never stopped him before.”

**[Cut]**

“So, there’s been a new development in the case,” Peter begins.

The scene has cut to Tony in his own office, going through a tall stack of official-looking documents, signing each in turn as Peter stands in front of the desk. “Yeah, I know,” he grumbles without looking up. “Pepper is now on my case about the SI paperwork backlog, thank you very much…”

“Uh, sorry about that,” Peter says, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck. “Didn’t realize that would jog her memory…”

“Yeah, yeah…” Tony waves his left hand dismissively.

“Anyway, the new lead is that we’ve uncovered a potential motive for Ms. Romanoff.”

“ _Nat?_ ” Tony asks, looking up for the first time, his brow furrowed.

“Well, in her interview, she said there was this incident a while back when you ate her ice cream and—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Tony cuts him off, his face a bit paler than it was before. “This is completely unrelated.”

Peter frowns. “But she mentioned something about getting revenge and—”

“Trust me, kid,” Tony snaps, pointing his pen sternly in Peter’s direction. “You’ll wanna drop this. Right now.”

“But Mr. Stark—”

“Nope,” Tony says. He looks back down as he resumes signing his paperwork. “The idea that Nat did this is about as unlikely as the idea that Bruce did it.”

“What makes you say that?” Peter questions.

“You haven’t heard?”

**[Cut]**

The documentary cuts to a montage of short clips of each of the Avengers:

 **Pepper Potts:** “Bruce?” She frowns. “I think he was really sick that day.”

 **Thor, Son of Odin:** “Ah, yes, Banner. His body was violently trying to expel some sort of contaminant from within,” he says grimly. “I do not envy the man.”

 **Natasha Romanoff:** “At breakfast that morning, I saw him reenact The Exorcist into a potted plant.”

 **Happy Hogan:**  “Guess who had to get rid of the plant?”

 **Steve Rogers:** “I haven’t seen someone that sick since I was in the army!” He winces. “And that guy  _died_.”

 **Colonel Rhodes:** “I wasn’t even there and I heard about how sick Bruce was.”

 **Doctor Strange:**  “Who is this?” the sorcerer's voice comes over the phone. “How did you get this number?“

 **Clint Barton:** “Dear god, Bruce was ill,” he says with a chuckle. “We all felt bad about not being more help, but FRIDAY said it was contagious and we also wanted to live.”

 **Tony Stark:** “Every time I would knock on the door to check on him, he’d either be moaning or retching. Around noon, I cracked the door open to slip in some crackers and a can of ginger ale.”

 **Sam Wilson:**  “First I offered to call him a doctor. Then later I offered to call him a priest.”

 **FRIDAY:** “Notes from the on-call SHIELD doctor state that he was suffering from norovirus—a highly contagious gastrointestinal illness,” the AI’s voice reports over the speakers. “Active symptoms of the virus include acute onset of nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, and diarrhea, accompanied by a low grade fever. These typically clear within forty-eight hours.”

**[Cut]**

Peter is in view of the camera now, standing just within the doorway of the Interrogation Chamber office. He shakes Bruce’s hand in greeting.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better, Dr. Banner,” Peter’s says as they both enter the room. “Thanks so much for agreeing to an interview.”

“Of course,” Bruce replies. “Although I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.” His gaze travels to the back wall, on which Ned and Peter have the case laid out between the two boards. “Wow, you two have really put a lot of work into this.”

Peter shrugs. “We’re on spring break this week so we have some time to kill.” He gestures towards the desk. “Please have a seat. We just have a few questions for you.”

“Alright,” Bruce agrees. As Peter steps back out of the shot, the camera shows the doctor walking over to the desk chair and sitting down. It zooms in to focus on his face.

“First off,” Peter’s voice begins, “can you please state your name and position for the record?”

“Dr. Bruce Banner,” he says. “I’m a research scientist and consultant for SHIELD.”

Peter coughs. “Um, also...?”

Bruce gives a tired sigh. “Also, I occasionally turn into an enormous green rage monster.”

Ned whispers from off camera, “Awesome.”

“Thank you,” Peter says before launching in. “So by now I’m sure you’re aware of the incident that occurred February 22nd, 2019, resulting in Clint Barton’s immediate removal from the compound.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Bruce replies with a small laugh. “I wasn’t really able to get the full story until that Sunday—you might have heard, I was a bit distracted that weekend—but Tony was definitely upset.”

“And could you explain where you were on that afternoon from 4:51 to 5:32 pm?” Peter asks.

Bruce leans back in the chair. “Time was a little blurry that day. But if I had to guess, probably the bathroom.”

Peter clears his throat. “Yeah FRIDAY mentioned something about you having some kind of stomach virus...”

He grimaces. “Yeah… let’s just say it wasn’t a very relaxing weekend.”

“That’s alright,” Peter says quickly, “we can move on.”

Swallowing hard, Bruce gives a grateful nod.

"Would you have had any reason to be upset with Mr. Stark that day?" Peter asks.

"No," Bruce says with a frown, "none that I recall."

“And can you think of any reason someone else might have been angry with Mr. Stark?” Peter asks. “Anyone who would have wanted to get back at him? Or prank him?"

Bruce sighs. “Honestly, I have to say Clint is top of my list. The overall maturity level of his pranks is pretty low. For example, one time he hid a life-sized Hulk cardboard cutout behind my shower curtain. Imagine my surprise walking into the bathroom the next morning to see The Other Guy staring back at me.”

“So do you think Clint could have done it?”

“It’s possible,” Bruce replies with a shrug. “But there are a few people I could see doing something like this. You two definitely have your work cut out for you.”

**[Cut]**


	2. Growing Suspicions

At the top of a fresh whiteboard, Ned writes in block letters: THE CASE AGAINST TONY STARK

“Alright, what do we got?” Ned asks, turning back to Peter.

“Well, he obviously had the access,” Peter muses, grabbing another marker. “He literally designed FRIDAY, so he definitely would be able to alter her coding and delete the footage.” On the board, he writes ‘Access: ✓’.

“Yeah, but he wasn’t anywhere near the scene of the crime,” Ned points out. “His alibi is rock solid. We have footage of him at the fundraising event.” He points to a screenshot on the bulletin board from a YouTube video showing Tony giving a speech that evening.

“He could have had someone else doing the actual painting of the dicks,” Peter suggests. He writes ‘Alibi: fundraiser’. Then to the side, he adds, ‘Accomplice??’ and circles it.

“Yeah, but he’s got like no motive! Why would he vandalize his own property? What point does it prove?”

“Well, if he wanted Barton out—”

“If he wanted Barton out, he could have kicked him out long ago,” Ned cuts him off. “I’m just not buying it. This is such an elaborately staged thing. Why would a very busy man like Mr. Stark waste his time framing Barton for a crime he didn’t commit?”

Peter sighs. “I don’t know.” He writes, ‘Motive: framing Clint??’ on the whiteboard. “But I don’t necessarily buy that Barton did it either. And I don’t see anyone else we interviewed yet having a stronger case.”

“Well it’s not like they drew themselves,” Ned scoffs.

“No, but you know what I mean…”

Ned moves closer to examine the boards. After a few seconds, he quirks his head in thought. “What about Natasha?”

“Nat?” Peter raises his eyebrows. “Even after what Mr. Stark said about the motive thing?”

“Look, hear me out.” Ned moves out of the frame for a moment. He pops back into view, wheeling another whiteboard in front of him. “Remember how Nat says she was in the gym at the time of the incident, but that she was alone?”

Peter flips back through his notes. “Yeah, I have it right here.”

“Well Clint said the same thing,” he says, pointing at Clint’s timeline on the first whiteboard. “So someone here has to be lying.”

“I see where you’re going here...” At the top of the blank board, Peter writes: THE CASE AGAINST NATASHA ROMANOFF.

“Sketchy alibi, for one,” Ned starts in. “She claims to have been alone in the gym at that time, but we have no way of proving that.”

“Don’t we though?” Peter asks. “Wouldn’t FRIDAY have seen her walk into or out of the gym?”

“Nope,” Ned replies. “We have footage of her entering her room at 4:07 pm, but then because FRIDAY doesn’t have cameras in private bedrooms, the next time we have her on camera is in the common room at 5:32 when surveillance resumed.” He draws a timeline on the whiteboard.

“It’s still possible though,” Peter argues. “All she would have had to do is to have left her room _after_ 4:51, workout for half an hour, and get to the common area before 5:32.”

“But I don’t think anyone was in the gym at all that day,” Ned goes on. He moves over to the bulletin board and points at two pictures. “This is the last shot we have of the gym before the cameras were cut,” he says, pointing at the first picture of the empty training facility. “Then at 5:32 pm, when the cameras came back on, we have this shot.” He points at an identical-looking photo of the still empty room. “See? No one was in here.”

Peter leans in close to examine the picture, his eyes shifting methodically from one photo to the other. After a moment, he gasps. “Wait!” He points at an exercise ball resting on one of the equipment racks. “This ball moved!”

Ned squints at the picture, then rolls his eyes. “Like, six inches, maybe. It’s a ball—it could have rolled.”

“No, it would have had no reason to roll unless something moved it,” Peter retorts. “Someone had to have been in the gym during those forty-one minutes. We just don’t know whether it was Clint or Nat.”

“Or _no one_ ,” Ned says. “It’s still a red flag for her story.” He picks up another marker and writes on Natasha’s board, ‘Alibi: gym’. “Also, she and Mr. Stark were pretty vague when we asked about the revenge thing.”

“Yeah, but Nat is more the type to stab you in your sleep than draw a bunch of dicks on your property,” Peter says with a frown. “She’s not known for being passive aggressive—just aggressive.”

Ned snorts out a laugh. “Alright, fine.” He writes, ‘Motive: revenge??’ on the board. “I’ll admit, the motive seems a stretch. But you have to look at the whole picture. She’s a spy, and an actually tech savvy one. She could totally break into FRIDAY.”

Ned drops down a line and then writes, ‘Access: ✓’.

“Alright, she can stay for now,” Peter says. He looks back at the bulletin board. “Moving on, I just don’t buy that it was Happy. It seems like this prank hurt him more than just about anyone else besides Mr. Stark. And”—he pulls the YouTube screenshot from Tony’s board and points a finger at one of the heads in the crowd—“he’s in the video of Mr. Stark’s speech.”

Ned frowns. “We can’t really confirm that this is his head though,” he argues. “Could be anyone with broad shoulders, a suit, and dark hair.”

“Still seems out of character,” Peter replies. “I think he can go.”

“Alright, for now,” Ned agrees. He grabs a stack of yellow sticky notes from the desk and writes ‘NOT IT?’ on one before sticking it to Happy’s picture on the board. “Who’s next?”

“I think it’s pretty clear we can rule out Colonel Rhodes,” Peter says with a half-laugh.

“Yeah, he’s literally on camera being in another state.” Ned takes another note from the stack and writes ‘NOT IT’. He adds this one to Rhodey’s picture.

“And then there’s Pepper,” Peter says. “It seems really unlikely that she would be able to walk all the way from the conference room, down to the garage, then draw the dicks, and get back to the conference room in time for the next meeting, all within fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah,” Ned agrees, writing on another sticky note. “And as she mentioned, none of the motives we came up with are anything new.” He sticks the ‘NOT IT’ note on Pepper’s photo.

“Also,” he goes on, “everyone agreed that Dr. Banner was out of commission that weekend, so I think that rules him out too.” Ned attaches another ‘NOT IT’ to Bruce.

“I think we need to expand our suspect pool.” Peter steps out of the frame and returns wheeling over a new whiteboard. “Before you say anything, hear me out.”

At the top of the board, Peter writes in all-caps letters: THE CASE AGAINST STEVE ROGERS

**[Cut]**

The scene cuts to Steve sitting behind the interrogation desk, looking mildly uncomfortable. “Do I look at you or at the camera?”

“Just look at me,” Peter’s voice replies. “Ned will handle the camera stuff.”

“Gotcha.” Steve shifts his gaze to stare straight ahead. “This is reminding me of when they made me film all those PSA videos…”

From off-screen, Ned throws in, “Let me just say, sir, I can’t believe I’m sitting in the same room as Captain America,” he says, voice filled with awe, “the man who voiced the torturous gym class pacer test.”

Steve smirks. In a monotone, he begins, “The FitnessGram Pacer Test is a multistage aerobic capacity test that—”

“Oh my god, stop,” Peter cuts him off, groaning. “I’m having flashbacks to an asthma attack in seventh grade.”

“The other kids called him Mr. Wheezy for a month,” Ned adds with a snort.

Steve winces. “I know the feeling.”

“Alright, okay, getting back on track here,” Peter says pointedly. “Could you please state your name and position for the record.”

The soldier sits up a little straighter in his chair. “Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America, member of the Avengers.”

“And is it true you were in the compound on the afternoon of Friday, February 22nd, 2019?” Peter continues.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Steve confirms with a nod.

“And from 4:51 to 5:32 pm, what exactly were you doing?”

“Well, I usually go to the gym around 5:00—”

“Was anyone else in the gym?” Peter cuts him off eagerly.

“I’m not sure,” Steve replies with a frown. “I never actually made it there. It was a weird day.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve sighs before launching in. “I was on my way to the gym when I saw someone stumbling down the hall,” he begins. “He was really pale and hunched over, sort of half-clinging to the walI. I had to do a double take before I realized it was Bruce.”

“Do you remember where he was headed?” Peter asks.

Steve grimaces. “Bathroom. It seemed pretty urgent, so I ended up helping him the rest of the way. I was concerned, to say the least, and would have stayed to make sure he was alright, but the doorbell rang.”

Peter sounds confused. “The Avengers compound has a doorbell?”

Steve shrugs. “Apparently. It was a pizza delivery guy.”

“Do you remember where the pizza was from?” Peter asks.

Steve thinks for a moment. “No, but I know the uniform was a red polo shirt and the guy was wearing a name tag that said ‘Stanley’. I tried asking FRIDAY to alert whoever had ordered the pizza, but she wouldn’t reply.”

“Right, right, because she was down during that time,” Peter agrees. “So what happened next?”

“When I didn’t get any response, I tried to tell Stanley that no one had ordered a pizza, but he was insistent. I ended up just paying for it so he could leave. It was seventy-one dollars, but I gave him a hundred and told him to keep the change because he seemed really confused and I felt bad. He was a real old fella—had to have been at least ninety.”

“You paid a hundred bucks for _one pizza_?” Peter says incredulously. “How is that possible?”

Steve sighs deeply. “Whoever ordered it had added every possible ingredient, including seven types of meat, blue cheese, and both pineapple _and_ anchovies,” he says, a look of disgust on his face. “When no one came to get it, I assumed it was a prank. So I figured it was Clint and went looking for him.”

Peter inhales sharply. “Were you able to locate Mr. Barton?”

“Yeah, that was surprisingly easy,” Steve says. “I went back to check on Bruce, and there was Clint, walking down the hallway, carrying the single largest bag of Cheetos I’d ever seen.”

“Interesting.” There’s the sound of pages flipping from Peter’s notebook. “And about what time was this?”

“Around 5:15. I asked Clint if he knew anything about the pizza and he said no. Then he went off in the direction of his room and I brought the pizza to the kitchen and stuck a note on it for whoever had ordered it. Then right after that, I got a phone call.”

“Who was the call from?”

“Bucky,” Steve replies. “He’s still in Wakanda. We were on the phone a good hour at least.”

Peter prompts, “And then?”

“That was pretty much it,” Steve says with another shrug. “I gave up on the gym, got some dinner, and had an early night.”

“Did you ever find out who had ordered the pizza?”

Steve shakes his head, looking sad. “No, and they never paid me back either.”

**[Cut]**

The camera cuts to Peter, standing nervously outside of Bruce’s lab. “I don’t wanna ask him.”

“We have to,” Ned argues. “He’s an alibi witness.”

Peter lowers his voice. “Yeah, but he’s also _the Hulk_. I don’t wanna ask the Hulk about his trip to the bathroom.”

The door opens, causing Peter to jump in surprise. Dressed in a white lab coat, a rather confused looking Bruce frowns at him. “Ask me about what?”

“Nothing,” Peter squeaks.

Ned jumps in, “We’re just wondering if you can confirm a detail about the afternoon of February 22nd.”

Bruce grimaces. “I don’t know how much more I can offer you, but go on.”

“Did you maybe...” Peter flounders. “Um, do you remember if… so Mr. Rogers was saying that, uh, around 5:00, uh…” His words all run together as he finally spits it out, “thathehadtohelpyoutothebathroom.”

“...What?”

Peter takes a deep breath and tries again. “Mr. Rogers claims to have helped you to the bathroom at 5:00 pm on February 22nd when you were sick. Can you confirm this?”

Bruce gives a short laugh. “Honestly Peter, I don’t have too many memories of that day—thank god—but that sounds entirely possible.”

“So you can’t confirm seeing Mr. Rogers at 5:00 pm?”

“If he says it happened, it probably happened,” Bruce replies. “I was pretty out of it by that point.”

“So it’s safe to say you don’t remember a doorbell ringing either?” Peter asks.

He quirks an eyebrow. “Does the compound have a doorbell?”

**[Cut]**

The documentary cuts to Tony standing in his workshop as he solders two wires together. “Yes we have a doorbell,” he confirms. “But if you start playing ding dong ditch at my compound, you’re banned as well.”

**[Cut]**

They cut to Peter, back at the desk in the Interrogation Chamber on a new Skype call. This time Clint is sitting at a wooden table inside what appears to be his family’s kitchen.

“According to Mr. Rogers,” Peter begins, “he claims to have seen you walking west down corridor 5B toward your bedroom with a bag of Cheetos at 5:15 pm on February 22nd, which is the same time that you claim to have been at the gym.” His eyes narrow at the webcam. “So why did you lie to us, Mr. Barton?”

“It wasn’t a lie!” Clint defends. “I must have been thinking of a different day is all. I usually work out around that time.”

Peter gives him a skeptical look. “According to FRIDAY, the week before the incident, you only went to the gym twice, once on Sunday for seventeen minutes, and again on Wednesday for twenty-one minutes.”

“Really?” He looks puzzled. “I could’ve sworn it was more than that...”

“You need to be honest with us if we’re going to be able to help you here,” Peter says, sounding irritated.

“I’m trying to be honest, it’s just hard to remember a random night a month ago.”

Peter sighs deeply. “Alright, let’s try this again. In light of the new information, where were you on the afternoon of February 22nd, 2019 from 4:51 to 5:32 pm?”

Clint thinks for a moment. “If I remember that day correctly now, I went to the kitchen for a snack and met Steve on my way back. He mentioned something about a pizza someone had ordered. I didn’t know anything about it, so I just went back to my room and watched TV.”

“So you _do_ remember Steve?” Peter clarifies. “Why haven’t you mentioned him at all previously?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Peter,” Clint says exasperatedly. “I forgot. It wasn’t a very memorable conversation.”

**[Cut]**

“Can you confirm whether you talked to Mr. Rogers on the evening of February 22nd, 2019?” Peter asks. His phone is resting on the desk, face up, a call in progress.

From the phone’s speaker, Bucky’s voice comes back. “Yes, we talked that night.”

“Did anything seem off about his behavior?” Peter goes on.

“No, seemed pretty typical,” Bucky says.

Peter heaves out a frustrated sigh. “Did he mention _anything_ strange about that day?” he presses. “Anything at all?”

There’s a pause. “Not really. Or, wait, I think he said something about how Banner wasn’t feeling so hot...”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Peter says, waving his hand dismissively. “Besides that?”

“Nothing I can remember. Sorry.”

**[Cut]**

Back in the office, Peter and Ned are standing in front of the whiteboard with THE CASE AGAINST STEVE ROGERS written at the top. Steve’s main plot points are laid out on a timeline spanning the width of the board, detailing his activities the evening of February 22nd.

“He was a busy guy,” Ned remarks.

“Yeah, I don’t even know where to start,” Peter sighs. “His alibi is a mess.”

“See, I feel like that _helps_ his case though,” Ned says. “He’s giving us a lot of details, and details can be investigated.”

Ned takes a folder off of the desk and pulls a sheet of paper out. He attaches it to the whiteboard with a magnet. “This is Steve’s call log from that day—it shows a seventy-three minute incoming call from Barnes’ number, starting at 5:21 pm, which Barnes confirms occurred. And even on an audio call, I think someone with enhanced hearing would have picked up on the fact that fourteen dicks were being spray painted in the background.”

“Maybe he did the dicks before Bucky’s call,” Peter suggests. “There’s a whole half-hour between 4:51 and 5:21.”

“But that’s when he says he was getting the pizza and helping Bruce.”

“Neither of which we can confirm actually happened,” Peter shoots back. “Bruce has no memory of that interaction, and—”

Ned cuts him off, “But he didn’t _deny_ it either, and I feel like being assisted to the bathroom by Captain Freaking America because you’re about to shit yourself is something you would deny if it wasn’t true.”

“...Alright, fine,” Peter allows, crossing his arms over his chest. “But that pizza is what’s driving me crazy. I’ve called every pizza place in a twenty-five mile radius of the compound and _not one_ has an elderly driver by the name of Stanley.”

“That’s such a weird thing to make up if it wasn’t real though,” Ned argues. “And let’s not blow past the real juicy detail here,” he goes on, pulling Clint’s board back in view. “Which is the fact that Steve’s testimony places Barton—our main suspect—in corridor 5B, moving west, at 5:15 pm, a detail which _Clint himself_ confirms! And that, right there, rules Steve out.”

“How does that rule him out?” Peter demands.

Ned groans and throws his hands up in frustration. “Because Clint is saying he saw Steve _with the pizza_ , meaning he would’ve had to receive the pizza _before_ 5:15, leaving no time for dick drawing.”

Peter scoffs, “Yeah, but Clint contradicted his own previous testimony with that detail. He’s clearly not the most reliable source here.”

“Exactly!” Ned exclaims. “So what makes more sense? That America’s Golden Boy made up an elaborately detailed story to cover up the fact that he was drawing dicks on his teammate’s cars, or that Clint Barton, a known prankster who conveniently has no memory of his whereabouts that day, drew the dicks?”

“So what’s your theory here?” Peter asks. “Because if Clint is seen at 5:15 in corridor 5B, when would he have had time to do it?”

Ned points excitedly at Clint’s timeline. “Look! From FRIDAY’s footage, we know that Barton was moving _east_ down corridor 5B at 4:51 pm—the same direction as the mainframe and garage—and that he was seen by Steve walking _west_ down the same corridor at 5:15, which leaves twenty-four minutes of unaccounted for time during which he could totally have hacked FRIDAY and drawn the dicks!”

“Only twenty-four minutes?” Peter says skeptically. “Is that enough time?”

Ned shrugs. “Let’s go find out.”

**[Cut]**

The scene cuts to Peter standing outside of Clint’s former bedroom. Tony stands beside him, arms crossed over his chest and an unamused look on his face.

“Alright, this is where it all began,” Peter starts conspiratorially. “FRIDAY has footage of Mr. Barton leaving his bedroom at 4:50 pm—”

“On his way to destroy my property,” Tony says bitterly as the two start walking down the hall. The camera follows along with them.

“Then he gets to _here_ at 4:51 pm”—Peter pauses in the middle of the corridor and points up at a security camera on the ceiling—“and this is the last camera that saw Barton before footage was cut, right?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“Okay,” Ned’s voice remarks from behind the camera. “I’m starting the stopwatch… now!”

Tony and Peter start walking at a brisk pace towards a small room just off of corridor 5B. There, they pause again.

“This is the access point for FRIDAY’s mainframe,” Tony explains. “Which of course, I won’t be showing you.”

Peter sticks his lower lip out in a pout. “Aw.”

“Yeah, no, not happening,” Tony huffs. “But, I did test it myself the day after the vandalism and if you know what you’re doing, disabling surveillance and altering the coding would take, at minimum, six minutes.”

“I guess we wait six minutes then,” Peter says.

Tony furrows his brow. “Why don’t we just add six minutes at the end?”

“No no,” Peter protests. “This time is important—we need to get into the vandal’s head, retrace their steps, feel the rush of adrenaline.”

“Oh yes, the rush of standing in a hallway,” Tony says, rolling his eyes.

The video speeds up, showing time-lapsed footage of Peter shifting from one foot to the other as he stands next to his exasperated-looking mentor.

After a moment, it cuts back to normal speed.

“Aaannd six minutes!” Ned announces. “Go, go, go!”

As the three of them make their way down toward the garage, Peter narrates excitedly. “The perpetrator would have had to take this route to the garage!”

“I can’t believe I’m wasting my afternoon on this...” Tony mutters as they trot along.

The footage speeds up again until they arrive at the garage. The cars have all been removed, and in each parking space there sits a photo of the vandalized vehicle along with a large piece of cardboard. A can of red spray paint is positioned on the floor near the entrance.

“How much time was that?” Peter asks.

“Walking here took five and a half minutes,” Ned replies, “and that combined with the walk to FRIDAY and the time to hack her system brings us up to twelve and a half. I think we’re gonna cut it close for Clint.”

“Only one way to find out.” Peter grins. “Let’s draw some dicks!”

“Not until you put this on,” Tony interrupts, tossing him a white painter’s mask. Peter catches it with a frown. “Don’t wanna have to tell May I let you breathe in toxic chemicals over your spring break.” There’s a beat. “Again.”

“Aw, c’mon Mr. Stark,” Peter grumbles. “It’ll mess up the shot. And I bet the vandal didn’t wear a mask...”

Tony gives the teenager a stern look. “No mask, no dicks.”

“Ugh, fine,” Peter relents. He tugs the mask on over his mouth and nose. His voice is a little muffled when he speaks again. “Start the clock in three… two… one!”

While Tony watches from off to the side, Peter grabs the spray can and moves over to the first parking space. He shakes the can a few times to get it going before drawing a shaft, tip, and balls on the first piece of cardboard, mimicking the image on the crime scene photo.

“Don’t forget the ball hairs!” Ned calls helpfully.

With his left hand, Peter shoots him a thumbs up and adds a few hairs. Tony just covers his face in his hands and lets out a deep sigh.

The video speeds up again, showing Peter making his way around the garage, hitting each piece of cardboard in turn.

“Aaand… time!” he calls as he finishes adding the final hairs to the last drawing.

“Fourteen dicks in six minutes, two seconds,” Ned reports. “Putting us at eighteen and a half minutes.”

Peter removes the mask and tosses it back to Tony, who catches it easily and immediately throws it back. “I don’t want your trash, kid,” the engineer retorts.

Rolling his eyes, Peter crumples the mask up and sticks it in his pocket.

“Alright, so eighteen and a half,” Ned goes on, “plus the five and half minutes it takes to walk back to the point in the hallway at which Steve says he saw Barton brings the time to twenty-four minutes in total.”

“And how much time was the magic window for Clint?” Peter asks.

“Twenty-four minutes,” Ned replies. “So, it’s definitely tight, but it _is_ actually plausible that Barton is our culprit.”

Tony throws his hands up in exasperation. “ _See?”_ he demands. “Case. Fucking. Closed.” He gestures around the garage. “Now clean all this mess up and leave the camera equipment you borrowed in Pepper’s office. Tell Barton when he’s ready to man up and admit to his crimes, he can send me a fucking email.”

The camera zooms in to capture Peter’s disappointed face as he sighs and bends down to pick up the spray can. Then suddenly, he blurts, “Wait! What about the Cheetos?”

The camera pans over to catch Tony’s frown. “The Cheetos?”

“Oh yeah!” Ned’s voice backs him up. “Steve said Clint had a giant bag of Cheetos with him on his way back to his room at 5:15. But if the crime took the entire twenty-four minutes, that doesn’t leave any time to get a snack.”

Eyes sparkling, Peter turns to stare into the camera. “Case reopened!”

**[Cut]**

Peter’s voice begins. “Please state your name and position for the record.”

“Thor, son of Odin, King of Asgard, God of Thunder,” Thor rattles off. He’s sitting behind the desk in the Interrogation Chamber, smiling broadly.

“Awesome, thanks,” Peter replies. “We have a couple of questions for you regarding your activities on February 22nd, 2019. We know you visited the compound on that day, despite there being no official Avengers business going on. Could you explain what exactly you were doing here?”

“Ah yes,” Thor’s voice booms. “I had intended to have a beer with my good friend Banner.” His brow furrows. “But it soon became quite obvious he wasn’t in the drinking mood.”

“But you stayed the night, correct?”

Thor nods. “Yes, I hoped Banner’s condition would improve in the morning. In the meantime, I retired to my quarters and stayed there the rest of the evening.”

“Doing what?” Peter asks.

“There was a captivating program on that television in my bedroom—a group of sixteen ill-prepared strangers on some sort of exotic island, engaging in contests to win a large sum of money.”

“The Survivor marathon?” Peter questions.

Thor hums affirmatively.

“So you were in your room the entire time?” Peter clarifies.

Thor nods. “Yes. It was fascinating—they all seemed to hate each other, but only secretly. I feared if I left, I might miss the reason why Rachel formed her alliance with Brandon rather than Taylor.”

“So, aside from Dr. Banner’s illness, were you aware of anything unusual occurring on that day? Specifically between 4:51 and 5:32 pm?”

He frowns. “Only that Stacy had cheated on Brandon with Simon after the coconut cannon challenge, so I was shocked when she made it through the next elimination round. I suspect there was a secret alliance going on with Kendra.”

Peter groans. “No I meant in the _compound_. Were you aware of the vandalism to Mr. Stark’s property?”

“Ah, sorry. Yes, but not until the following day,” Thor says. “I was quite perplexed.” His frown deepens. “Why would anyone paint such images on vehicles?”

“We’re assuming the motive was a prank,” Peter explains. “Just haven’t yet figured out who did it.”

“Why _penises_ though?” Thor presses. “What significance does a penis hold?”

Peter gives a small laugh. “I mean, dicks are funny…”

“Are they?” Thor looks confused. “Why?”

Ned spins the camera around to capture Peter’s face, which is just as confused-looking as the god’s. “Well, I mean… they’re kinda, uh, with the...” he flounders. “They’re just, um…” He turns to look into the camera. “Why are penises funny, Ned?”

There’s a pause before Ned answers, “They just… kinda are.”

“Interesting, I had no idea,” Thor remarks. “My brother is more well-versed than I am in Midgardian culture—perhaps try him.”

**[Cut]**

The next scene of the documentary is filmed shakily on Peter’s cell phone camera. Ned is visible, puking into a bush at the edge of the SHIELD headquarters building.

“You good, man?” Peter asks. The grimace in his voice is audible.

Thor stands next to the gagging boy, patting him on the back heartily. “There, there lad! Your first journey by Bifrost is always the hardest,” he says encouragingly.

Ned only moans and retches again.

**[Cut]**

When the documentary resumes, this time Ned is filming again. The clip shows Loki sitting in a chair in the center of a glass-walled prison cell, surrounded by half a dozen SHIELD agents. His hands are tied behind his back and the guards are aiming an array of various weapons in his direction.

He sighs irritably. “What do you want, brother?”

“These young lads have a few questions for you,” Thor announces, gesturing first to Peter, who gives a small wave, and then to the camera.

“And why would I have any interest in speaking to them?” Loki asks tiredly.

“Because you are turning over a new leaf,” Thor says brightly. “Anyway, go on Peter,” he says to the boy beside him, giving his shoulder a nudge.

“Um, hello Mr. Loki, sir,” Peter greets. “Could you possibly tell us where you were on the evening of February 22nd, 2019, from 4:51 to 5:32 pm?”

Loki blinks at him. “Look around you. Where do you think I was?”

“Um, well it’s just that I know you’re the God of Mischief,” Peter hesitantly begins. A few beads of sweat are dripping down his forehead, which he wipes away with his hand. “And someone drew a bunch of, um, a bunch of... phallic images, um, on Mr. Stark’s cars, and—”

“You’re asking a man in prison if he drew penises on cars,” Loki says, voice flat.

Peter looks nervous. “Uh… yes?”

Loki takes a long, measured breath. “Let me make this perfectly clear, child,” he says slowly, teeth slightly clenched. “As much of a dick as Stark may be, I would not waste my time on frivolous artwork. I would simply snap my fingers and transform his entire precious tower into a gigantic, throbbing, cock.”

Thor hums to himself. “This is true—that is more his style.”

“Oh,” Peter remarks.

“Now will that be all?” Loki asks, his tone icy. “My yard time starts in ten minutes.”

“Yep, that’s all,” Peter says as he hurriedly gathers his papers and folders together. “Thank you so much for your time, Mr. God, sir.”

And with that, the camera cuts to black.

**[Cut]**

Sitting back in the Interrogation Chamber with their next interviewee, Ned whips the camera around just as Peter turns to stare directly into it, eyes wide. “Sorry… What did you just say?” Peter asks in shock.

“The dick prank?” Sam questions, grinning smugly as the camera turns back to him. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh yeah, that was totally me.”

“Wait a sec, wait a sec…. So you’re pleading guilty to the crime?” Peter demands. “You’re _admitting_ to have committed a hundred thousand dollars worth of vandalism to Mr. Stark’s property?”

Sam casually drums a rhythm on the desk with his fingers. “Yup,” he says, popping the p.

“But… _why_?”

Sam shrugs. “I just thought it would be funny. Going down in prank history.”

“Um, right.” Peter inhales deeply. “So could you just walk us through how exactly this went down?”

“Well, adrenaline was high—it was a bit of a blur,” Sam replies casually. “All I know is I walked into the garage with a can of spray paint and…. you know”—he mimics drawing a dick in the air—“went to town.”

“What time did this happen?”

“Hmm… around 5:30? It was just a couple dicks, so it only took a few minutes.”

“But how exactly did you break through FRIDAY’s security systems?” Peter asks skeptically.

Sam grins. “Back in the military, they used to call me Inspector Gadget.”

“Inspector Gadget?” Ned whispers from behind the camera. “Isn’t that the guy who’s like, ‘Go go grappling hook’?”

“What are you getting at?” Sam asks. He folds his hands over his stomach.

Ned spins the camera back on Peter, who is staring straight ahead, mouth opening and closing every few seconds like he is trying to say something, but no words are coming out.

Suddenly, Sam dissolves into laughter and the camera turns back to him. “I’m just messing with you guys!” he says between giggles. “I was at the mall all afternoon.”

“Wh...What?” Peter questions.

“At the mall,” Sam repeats. “Left at like 3:30, came back to the compound around 7:00.” He lifts up one leg to get it in the shot. “Bought these pants at 5:23 pm—I have a receipt.”

“So… wait,” Peter says slowly, “you just claimed involvement for no reason?”

“Not _no_ reason,” Sam chuckles. “Should have seen the look on your faces. Priceless.”

**[Cut]**


	3. Nutty Theories

“Well that sucked,” Ned remarks. “I’m starting to have second thoughts about giving up my entire spring break for these assholes.”

“Don’t forget to edit that out later,” Peter warns as he enters the shot. He’s wheeling new whiteboards in one after another. “Alright, this one is gonna be a doozy.”

Ned sighs and moves over to the bulletin board. “I think we can safely rule out Sam,” he says, attaching a ‘NOT IT’ post-it note to the man’s photo. “As much of a dick move as that was, his alibi totally checks out.”

He points at a picture of Sam posted on his private Instagram at 5:33 pm in which the man is holding a paper cup of Dippin’ Dots and a Kohl’s shopping bag. The photo is tagged #boughtsomepants. It has two likes—one from @sgrogers1918 and the other from Ned himself.

“He could have taken that at any time though,” Peter argues. “And what’s up with that hashtag? _Bought some pants_?”

Ned shrugs. “Give him a break—the guy is like, fifty. Also, why are we not talking about the fact that _Captain America_ has an Instagram?”

“That’s because he only posts out of focus pictures of random birds he sees,” Peter scoffs. “Half of them have his thumb in the shot.”

Ned smiles. “Aw, that’s kinda cute…”

Peter snaps his fingers at his friend. “Focus. We’re on Sam,” he reminds. “Doesn’t it seem a little _too_ convenient that he posted that photo at the exact time he needed an alibi?”

“Yeah, but he was also filmed on like three different security cameras at the mall that day,” Ned points out. He takes a folder off the desk and pulls out a few black and white photos from the mall’s surveillance footage.

Peter flips through the images for a few seconds before sighing. “Okay, fine,” he huffs. “On to Loki then.” He moves his hand up to the picture of their next suspect. “God of Mischief or not, I just don’t see him breaking out of prison to draw some dicks.”

“Yeah, he can go,” Ned agrees, and then gives a small shudder. “I am never traveling by Bifrost again. Thor lied—the second trip was worse.”

Peter slaps a ‘NOT IT’ post-it on Loki’s picture. “What about Thor?” he moves on. “Are we ruling him out too?”

“I’m not sure,” Ned says, moving over to one of the new whiteboards. “The cluelessness could have been a show. How can someone have lived like a thousand years and still not know that dicks are funny?”

“Different planet, different culture,” Peter argues. “Maybe they’re just not seen as funny on Asgard.”

“How can you not see this as funny?” Ned demands. He points at one of the crime scene photos, showing a giant penis spanning the entire windshield of one of Tony’s Audis, the ball sack resting right over where the driver’s head would be. “It’s _hilarious_.”

“Fine,” Peter gives in. He writes, THE CASE AGAINST THOR at the top of the board. “Maybe Thor was playing dumb. So then what else do we have on him?”

“Weak alibi for one,” Ned says as Peter jots down ‘Alibi: watching TV’. “After speaking with Bruce, the last time we have him on camera is entering his bedroom at 3:35 pm. Then he claims to have been watching a Survivor marathon the entire night.”

“Do you really think he could alter FRIDAY’s coding though?” Peter asks skeptically.

“He’s literally a _magical deity_. I don’t think we can rule him out for that.” Ned grabs the marker from Peter and adds ‘Access: ✓’ to the board.

“But there’s one glaring problem with this...” Peter snatches the marker back and writes ‘Motive: ???’ below the other line. “Why the hell would he be doing this in the first place?”

“Big picture, Peter,” Ned says, gesturing widely. “According to FRIDAY’s records, his visits to the compound are rare—he’s only been here twice since Christmas. What are the odds that he would just so happen to pop in on the very day this all went down?”

“But the motive is the most important part!” Peter insists, getting heated now. “Thor gets along with _everyone_ —why would he do anything like this if he doesn’t even think it’s funny?”

Ned shrugs. “I dunno, maybe it was just kind of a spur of the moment sort of—”

“No!” Peter cuts him off, hurling the marker against the opposite wall. “That doesn’t make any sense! None of this makes any fucking sense!” He flops down onto the desk chair with a groan. “Maybe Mr. Stark was right and it was Barton all along.”

Moving over to the chair, Ned pats his friend on the shoulder. “C’mon man, don’t give up now…”

“But this is so stupid!” Peter exclaims. “Everyone is either clueless or ridiculously unhelpful or fucking lying to us! These guys are supposed to be Earth’s mightiest defenders and they can’t even agree on who was in the gym that day!” He covers his face with his hands and moans.

“No, we can do this,” Ned encourages. “There has to be an answer here— _someone_ had to have committed this crime and that answer is in this room.” He gestures to the whiteboards and pictures surrounding them. “We just need to think outside the box.”

“I think I’d rather set fire to the box and shove it up the ass of the next person who—”

**[Cut]**

When the documentary resumes, both Ned and Peter are sitting at the desk, pictures of the crime scene and suspects spread out in front of them, along with several large pizza boxes.

“Feeling better?” Ned asks as Peter takes another bite of his pizza.

“Mmhmm,” Peter hums, chewing. He’s looking far more relaxed now that he has some food in him. He cracks open a fresh can of Red Bull and takes a long sip.

“Okay, so here’s my new theory,” Ned says. He stands up and wipes his greasy fingers on his jeans. “All this time, we’ve been operating under the assumption that it was _one_ person who committed the vandalism. But what if...” He attaches a string from Natasha’s photo on her board and brings it over to pin it to Clint’s photo.

Peter frowns. “You think they teamed up?”

“Hear me out,” Ned says conspiratorially. “They’re both professional spies with weak alibis and believable motives. So what if Nat was the brains of this operation and Clint was the muscle?”

“So you think Clint drew the dicks and Nat altered FRIDAYs coding?” Peter questions.

“Exactly! And now without having to worry about the time it takes to hack FRIDAY, Clint could have totally committed the crime within that twenty-four minute window, celebratory Cheetos included.”

“Why would they team up though?” Peter asks.

Ned sighs and sits back down in his chair. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re both sick of Mr. Stark’s—” he waves a hand, searching for the word—“uh, starkiness.” He takes a sip of his own can of Red Bull.

“Yeah but you’d think if they were in on this together, they would at least be able to get their story straight,” Peter points out. “All they would have to do was say they were in the gym _together_ and they would have supported each other’s alibis, but they both claimed to have been in the gym, _alone_.”

“Maybe they screwed up?” Ned suggests. “I mean, nobody’s perfect. And besides, Clint changed that story later.”

“They’re literally both _professional spies,”_ Peter says, rolling his eyes, “and your theory is that this entire elaborately planned prank went off without a hitch, but they forgot to coordinate the most _basic_ detail?”

Ned thinks for a moment. “Maybe it was intentional. Maybe they’re trying to throw us off because they _know_ we would think they’re too good for that. Maybe this is reverse psychology.”

Peter blinks at him. “...Are you even listening to yourself right now?”

“Okay, so maybe Nat and Clint weren’t the two who did it, but someone else could have teamed up...” Ned has a bite of pizza.

“Alright, I see where you’re going here,” Peter says. Taking another swig of the energy drink, he pauses to think. “Rhodey had motive, but not opportunity. So what if it was his idea, but someone else did the dirty work?” He pops the last bite of pizza on his plate into his mouth.

“Yeah but who? We’ve already investigated everyone who was at the compound that day.”

Peter chews thoughtfully. “I don’t know, I just think there has to be something we’re overlooking here…” He reaches into the box for another slice, but just as his fingers grasp the crust, he gasps. “ _The pizza guy!_ ”

Ned frowns. “The pizza guy that we can’t even confirm exists?”

“Yes! It makes perfect sense!” Peter exclaims. “A mystery pizza guy from an unknown location shows up at the compound at the exact time that the crime goes down. It’s the perfect distraction!”

“It literally only distracted _one_ _person_ ,” Ned retorts. “How is that the ‘perfect distraction’?”

“Maybe Steve was the only obstacle left!” Peter suggests, jumping to his feet. He takes another swig of Red Bull as he races over to the whiteboards. “Maybe that’s all it took! Maybe—”

“Maybe three cans of Red Bull was a bad idea,” Ned mutters.

Peter grabs a marker and starts scribbling excitedly. “Maybe the pizza man did it himself!”

Standing back up, Ned sighs at Peter’s emerging ‘CASE AGAINST PIZZA MAN’ board. “Yup. Three cans was definitely too many cans...”

**[Cut]**

When the scene resumes, both Ned and Peter are standing at the bulletin board now, which contains at least twice as many red connecting strings as it did last time. Peter is now holding a Costco-sized bag of peanut M&Ms and downing handfuls as he rearranges pictures.

“Okay, okay, so back to the theory that Mr. Stark was trying to get rid of Clint without angering the other Avengers,” Ned says excitedly, “what if he _hired Nat_ to commit the crime and discredit Clint’s alibi about being at the gym?” He grabs a handful of M&Ms from the bag.

“Would she really do that to Clint though? I mean, they’re pretty close friends…”

Ned shrugs. “She used to be an assassin—for enough money, she might turn on him.”

Peter frowns. “I don’t know, seems a stretch…” He stares closer at the board in thought. “But what if... Mr. Stark hired the pizza guy?!”

“ _Oh my god_ , Peter,” Ned groans.

**[Cut]**

“What if Sam wasn’t actually at the mall that day?” Peter suggests. “All we have as evidence is a suspicious Instagram post. He could have taken that photo any time.”

“And the pants,” Ned throws in as he unwraps a Slim Jim. “He was literally wearing his alibi.”

Peter makes a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“Plus there’s the security footage,” Ned goes on. “He was on multiple mall cameras.”

“Those pics are such low quality. It could have been anyone vaguely resembling him.”

“What, you think he’s got a secret twin?” Ned scoffs.

Peter glances up at the ceiling. “...FRIDAY?” he asks. “Can you pull up the birth records for Sam Wilson?”

**[Cut]**

“Bruce was also at the compound all day…” Peter muses as he cracks open a new can. “Maybe he wasn’t really that sick.”

Ned quirks an eyebrow at his friend. “You think he _faked_ forty-eight hours of vomiting and diarrhea to the extent that people in _other states_ were convinced he was on his deathbed?”

Peter sighs and erases his latest theory from the whiteboard. “Yeah, alright, never mind…”

**[Cut]**

“What if there were two dick-drawers?” Ned suggests.

Both boys are standing in front of the board, staring at the pictures of each vandalized vehicle.

“But they all seem to be the same style,” Peter argues. “I mean, look at this”—he unpins two of the pictures and moves them side by side— “the shaft length, the tips, the ball hairs… it’s all the same. And it matches Clint’s previous artistic contributions.” He points to the picture of the dick-adorned ketchup bottle from the fridge.

“Yeah but if you’re trying to frame the guy, you would want to copy his style,” Ned shoots back. “How hard could it be to copy this dick?”

Peter picks up two markers and passes one to Ned. “Let’s find out.”

Ned grins back, uncapping it. “For science!”

**[Cut]**

An array of dicks now covers every inch of previously blank space on the whiteboards. Both Steve and Natasha’s pictures now feature black glasses and cartoon mustaches, and Clint’s picture has devil horns and a pitchfork drawn onto it.

Sitting in an office chair, staring at the chaos before him, Peter heaves out a sigh. “I wish I had some ice cream.”

**[Cut]**

Peter and Ned are now on the floor in the middle of the room, empty pizza boxes, half-melted containers of Hunka Hulka Burning Fudge, and discarded energy drink cans surrounding them. Peter is in the process of drawing Tony’s iconic mustache in Sharpie on Ned’s face, matching the one on his own.

Both boys are startled by the sound of the door creaking open. They swivel their heads around to stare at the door, eyes wide. The marker draws a long stray line from Ned’s chin to his ear as he turns his head.

After a moment of silence, Tony’s voice comes from off-screen. “You know, what? I’m not even gonna ask,” he says, followed by the sound of the door shutting again.

**[Cut]**

Both boys are lying flat on their backs on the floor now, using the closed pizza boxes as pillows.

“Okay, okay, hear me out,” Ned says. He gestures tiredly up at the ceiling. “Rhodey, Clint, _and_ Thor… _together_.”

“Yes!” Peter gasps. “Rhodey could have convinced Thor to use his Asgardian magic powers to erase the footage while Clint drew the dicks!” He takes another chomp out of his Twizzler.

Ned’s eyes widen. “Heimdall could have gotten them in!”

**[Cut]**

“What if Pepper wasn’t really peeing?” Ned muses.

Mindlessly, Peter pops a few sour Skittles in his mouth. “Tell me more…”

**[Cut]**

“...Then do you think we can confiscate Sam’s pants as evidence?” Peter wonders.

“Would we need a warrant?” Ned asks with a frown.

“How do you even get a warrant anyway?”

**[Cut]**

“What if it was aliens?” Peter murmurs.

“What if it was Happy?” Ned murmurs back.

Peter gasps slowly. “...What if Happy is an alien?”

**[Cut]**

Peter is pacing in front of the boards now. It’s difficult to make out the pictures beneath the layers of tangled string.

Ned is sitting on top of the desk. “So for Doctor Strange, we’ve got access, check,” he says.

“He could just portal his ass in there,” Peter agrees. “But what do we have for motive?”

“Well, I’ve heard this rumor about him and Stark…”

Peter cuts him off, “No.”

**[Cut]**

“How do I know _you_ didn’t do it?” Ned asks.

He’s stretched out on his back on top of the desk now, his head hanging over the edge. Above him, Peter is dangling upside down, his feet attached to the ceiling.

“Um, maybe because I wasn’t anywhere _near_ the compound on that day?” Peter shoots back.

“You have superpowers,” Ned says. “You could have swung here.”

“You think I swung to upstate New York _from Queens_?” he demands, incredulous.

Ned shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re capable of.”

“By that logic, how do I know _you_ didn’t do it?” Peter shoots back. “What’s _your_ alibi?”

Ned rolls his eyes. “Dude.”

“No, I’m serious! If you’re gonna be accusing me, how do I know it wasn’t _you_?”

“Because this is the first time I’ve even _been to_ the fucking compound!” Ned retorts. “You honestly think I snuck in four weeks ago to draw dicks on Iron Man’s property? What, with the help of your buddy the _pizza guy_?!”

“Don’t knock Stanley!” Peter exclaims, anger flashing in his eyes. “He’s suspicious and you know it!”

They’re interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the door. Both Ned and Peter raise their heads and turn in the direction of the noise. “Yeah?” Peter calls.

From off camera, the door creaks open. A moment later, Bruce enters the shot. His gaze travels around the room, taking in the carnage. “What on earth happened here?”—he squints at Ned—“Is that permanent marker on your face?”

“Just trying to get in Mr. Stark’s head,” Ned answers.

Bruce shifts his gaze up to the inverted teenager. “Why are you on the ceiling, Peter?” he asks, sounding a bit concerned.

“We wanted a new perspective on the case,” Peter explains.

With a weary sigh, Bruce runs a hand over his face. “Do you boys have any idea what time it is?”

“Um…” Ned sits up on the desk with his feet over the side and blinks around the room. “Like, maybe midnight?”

“It’s 3:30 in the morning.” Frowning, Bruce bends down and picks up one of the empty Red Bull cans. “How many of these have you had?”

“A few,” Peter replies. He detaches from the ceiling and drops down to the floor, stumbling on the landing. He would have fallen if not for Bruce grabbing his arm to steady him.

“Whoa…” Peter mutters, closing his eyes. “Why’s the floor spinning?”

Bruce sighs deeply. “Alright, I think it’s time for bed.”

“Nooo...” Peter groans irritably and shakes out of Bruce’s grip. “Not _now_.”

“Yeah, we’re so close to a breakthrough here,” Ned says, gesturing to their work, which is covering nearly every available surface in the room. “And we still have half a bag of Skittles.”

Sidestepping the trash on the floor, Bruce crosses over to the nearest whiteboard and peers closely around the strings. “Does this say ‘the case against Nick Fury’?”

A manic look comes over Peter’s eyes. He moves excitedly over to Bruce. “Okay, hear me out—”

“Nope,” Bruce cuts him off. “This has gone too far. You two are supposed to be enjoying your spring break, not obsessing over a stupid prank.”

“But Clint is counting on us!” Ned whines. “We promised him we’d get to the bottom of this!”

“You’re not gonna get to the bottom of anything in this state,” Bruce replies patiently. “You need sleep.”

“How are we supposed to sleep with the vandal still at large?” Peter demands, eyes wild. “Look at this, look at this...” Peter follows one of the red strings with his finger connecting Steve’s picture to a sketch of an elderly man in a polo shirt and sunglasses, labeled ‘Evil Stanley’. “We just need to figure out Steve’s connection with the pizza guy and this case will be solved, I know it!”

Bruce places a hand on Peter’s shoulder and starts walking him back toward Ned. “C’mon, I’ll make you boys some herbal tea or something…”

“Tea won’t solve this crime,” Ned says bitterly, getting up from the desk. He blinks a few times. “Wow, you were right about the floor spinning…” he mumbles to Peter.

Shaking his head slowly, Bruce takes Ned’s arm as well and begins steering both boys towards the door.

“I just wish people would stop lying... ” Peter grumbles.

Ned tilts his head in the scientist’s direction thoughtfully. “Do you think we could get Mr. Stark to sponsor a polygraph?”

“Probably not,” Bruce chuckles. “Those don’t really work on this population. We had to do one for a SHIELD training once and Nat claimed to have committed the Kennedy assassination while dressed as the Easter Bunny. The machine didn’t so much as blip.”

Peter sighs. “If only there was some way of gathering more evidence.”

Ned nods. “Yeah, like a test or something…”

Suddenly, Peter stops in his tracks and gasps. “A trial run!” In excitement, he raises a triumphant fist up at the ceiling. “FRIDAY, call a team meeting! Alert every potential suspect—everyone is back on the table!”

“Oh no you don’t!” Bruce says quickly. “ _Not_ at 3:30 in the morning—not if you want to live.”

“But Dr. Banner...” Peter whines.

“Nope.” Bruce shakes his head firmly. “Right now, it’s bedtime.”

**[Cut]**

When the documentary resumes, it’s the following afternoon. The scene has changed to Tony’s garage. The cars have all been removed once again, and in their place are eight large paper flip charts, standing on easels. Positioned in front of each chart, from left to right are Thor, Steve, Bruce, Nat, Happy, Pepper, and Sam.

The camera pans to the right to capture Colonel Rhodes chuckling as he guides Clint Barton over to the group.

“Hey! Get it together,” Tony snaps at his friend. “You’re escorting a criminal. Nothing here is funny.”

“Are you kidding?” Rhodey laughs. “This guy is a _legend_. I’m so glad you let him back in for this.”

“Yeah, don’t get used to it,” Tony retorts. “The second this totally unnecessary test proves I was right all along, his ass is out again.”

Rolling his eyes as he walks past, Clint nods to Tony. “Stark,” he greets in a monotone.

“Barton.” Tony glares back, crossing his arms over his chest. “How’s Iowa treating you?”

“Laura wasn’t too thrilled by the bedbugs I brought home from Mama Rosa’s Hideaway,” Clint says bitterly.

“Serves you right,” Tony scoffs as the archer gets into position in front of the remaining flip chart.

“Play nice, boys,” Pepper says, ”or I’ll have to separate you two.”

“Alright, alright, let’s get this started,” Peter calls from the other side of the room. The camera spins back to him and follows along as he walks in front of the row of suspects. “First off, I’d just like to say thank you all so much for helping us out with the next stage of our investigation.”

Thor raises a hand, looking puzzled.

“Yes?” Peter asks.

“I am still not entirely sure why I am here,” Thor says with a frown. “What is the meaning of this so-called ‘Trial’?”

“I was just getting to that,” Peter replies. Addressing the whole group, he goes on, “You’re all here because we are attempting to get to the bottom of this case and prove once and for all who the true Avengers Vandal really is.”

“ _Ahem_ Barton _ahem,_ ” Happy coughs loudly.

Clint shoots him a glare. “Nice. Real mature.”

“Oh, like drawing dicks on every condiment bottle in the fridge?” Happy mutters back.

Peter waves his arms to get their attention. “Hello! Over here, guys. C’mon...” he begs.

Tony runs an exasperated hand over his face. “This was a mistake,” he groans.

Peter opts to just plow on through. “Alright, so the way this is going to work is simple.” He picks up a cardboard box from the floor which contains about a dozen cans of red spray paint. As he speaks, he walks around and passes out one can to each participant, along with a disposable face mask. “Before you is a blank piece of paper on which each of you will draw three dicks.”

“Three of the same dicks, or you want three different styles?” Natasha clarifies.

Bruce frowns. “How many different ways can you draw a dick?”

“I can think of twelve off the top of my head,” she says with a shrug. As she lists them, she ticks them off on her fingers. “Circumcised, uncircumcised, hairy, hairless, erect, flaccid—”

Peter cuts her off, “Just draw your go-to dick. Whatever you’re feeling.”

“Why is Stark not participating?” Clint demands.

“Watch it, feathers!” Tony snaps.

“Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes are not participating in this trial because we have undeniable videotaped evidence supporting their alibis,” Peter says patiently. “The rest of you at least had access at the time of the crime.”

From his position beside Clint, Rhodey throws in, “Not that I wouldn’t have _loved_ to have pulled this prank, mind you.”

Tony shoots him a glare.

“If there are no more questions then,” Peter says loudly. “Please put on your masks.”

Grumbling, the line of suspects slip their masks on.

Peter goes on, “Please prime your cans.”

Each member of the trial uncaps their can and starts shaking it, filling the room with the telltale sound of rattling spray paint. After a few seconds of mixing, everyone gets into position.

“Drawing will begin on my mark,” Peter announces. “Three… two—”

There’s a hiss as one can fires, immediately followed by an agonized cry. “Gahh! My eyes!”

**[Cut]**

When the video resumes, Steve is bent over the utility sink in the corner of the garage. Rhodey and Bruce stand on either side of him, looking concerned as they help flush out Steve’s eyes with water. Peter stands just off to the side, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

“How can someone live for an entire _century_ and never learn how to use a spray can?” Tony asks incredulously.

“They were only patented in like, the thirties,” Steve retorts as water pours over his face. “Plus, there was a war going on—I had other things on my mind than graffiti.”

Clint scoffs. “It’s literally just point and shoot.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Tony turns on him.

“Know what, Tony?” Clint flips him off.

“Alright, that’s fifteen minutes,” Rhodey announces, cutting them off. He turns off the faucet and hands Steve a towel. “Do your eyes still burn?”

“Not so bad now,” Steve says. Blindly he takes the towel and starts dabbing his face dry.

From his shirt pocket, Bruce takes out a penlight and clicks it on. “I’m just going to take a look,” he warns.

Steve grunts in acknowledgment and lowers the towel down, still squinting. Bruce carefully pries the soldier’s eyes open and shines the light into them. They look red and irritated.

Peter rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m so sorry about all of this…”

Steve laughs lightly. “It’s fine—I’m sure my super healing will take care of this in no time.”

“Looks alright,” Bruce reports, clicking the light back off. “They’ll probably sting for a few hours, but I don’t think we need Medical.”

“Good,” Steve says, sounding relieved. “Back to the trial then.”

“I think you’ll have to sit this one out,” Bruce replies with a small chuckle.

**[Cut]**

The scene cuts back to Steve reclining in a chair off to the side of the room with Rhodey perched on a stool beside him. The colonel wrings out a wet rag into a bowl and places the cloth over Steve’s eyes.

The remaining seven participants are positioned in front of the flip charts, masks on and cans aimed at the papers.

“Alright, this time pointing the can _away_ from your faces…” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “On the count of three.”

Peter takes over. “One… two… three!”

An explosion of hissing fills the room. As the suspects begin drawing, the camera travels around the garage from right to left, taking in the emerging artwork.

Clint draws with broad, practiced strokes, easily moving from balls to shaft to a simple rounded tip. His dicks are all uniform in appearance and appear identical to the ones he regularly scatters throughout the compound.

Sam stands at the board beside Clint, glancing over his shoulder and carefully copying each of his neighbor’s movements in turn.

Pepper is holding the can out in front of her at arm’s length, wincing as she sprays. Her dicks resemble modern art a bit more than penises, with crooked, unjoined lines forming the images.

Happy is the fastest. His dicks feature simple shapes and no added frills, such as ball hairs or mushroom heads—just a straight up and down ball sack, shaft, and tip. He finishes with a huff and tosses the can back over his shoulder to a mildly surprised Peter.

Natasha has three completely different looking dicks on her paper. One exactly matches the dicks drawn in the vandalism, down to the precise placement of the ball hairs. The second looks identical to Pepper’s contribution. The third one she adds ears, whiskers, and a tail to, turning it into a sitting cat.

Bruce looks uncomfortable. It takes him three tries to get the can going, but once it does, he proceeds to draw with choppy strokes. His dicks feature wide shafts and mushroom head tips.

At the end of the line, Thor is still finishing off his first dick when Peter calls time. Everyone lowers their cans and takes a step back from the easels, instantly gasping at the god’s masterpiece.

“Holy shit!” Sam exclaims, moving over to get a closer look.

“It’s practically throbbing off the page!” Clint balks. “What the hell, Thor?”

“Is that… _your_ dick?” Happy asks, awe in his voice.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Steve questions, lowering the cloth from his eyes.

“You gotta see this!” Rhodey quickly helps Steve to his feet and starts guiding the mostly blind soldier over to the flip chart.

“Those veins!” Pepper gasps in astonishment. “How did you spray paint _veins_?”

Nat looks skeptical, squinting closer at the page. “Did you cheat with Asgardian magic?”

Having reached the board now, Rhodey stops and stares at it, mesmerized. “It’s speaking to me,” he whispers.

“That is… excellent shading,” Steve comments, rubbing at his eyes. “And from just one color, that’s… wow.”

Tony claps Thor on his back. “I didn’t know you had it in ya, buddy.”

Thor chuckles at his impressed teammates. “Yes, well, Father once tasked me to paint the ceiling of our banquet hall on Asgard. Took about, ah, I would say fifteen or so of your Midgardian years. Learned a trick or two.”

**[Cut]**

The scene cuts to the participants now scattered about the common area, eating pizza off paper plates and chatting with each other.

The camera follows Peter as he walks around the room, getting bits of various conversations.

“...So what have you been doing this whole time?” Sam asks Clint as the archer takes a bite of a breadstick.

Clint shrugs. “Oh, you know, the usual. Painted Lila’s room, fixed the fence, re-roofed the barn… built a guest house.” He takes a sip of Coke. “Taught myself how to play some Blues songs on harmonica…”

The camera moves away from them and follows Peter past a conversation between Tony and Pepper as they hold Thor’s masterpiece out in front of them.

“...But it’s better than that French sculpture you put in the dining room,” Tony points out with a shudder. “That thing gives me the creeps.”

“Tony, no matter how well-drawn it is, I don’t want a gigantic penis on my bedroom wall,” Pepper argues.

Tony looks a bit disappointed. “In the office then?” he tries again.

Peter moves over to the pizza buffet laid out on a table against the back wall. “You want any?” he asks, looking at the camera.

“Ugh, no thanks.” The grimace in Ned’s voice is actually audible. “After last night, just the smell is making me queasy...”

“Suit yourself.” Peter shrugs and starts piling slices onto his own plate.

“This is delicious,” Thor remarks. He reaches over the teenager and takes another piece of meat lovers. “I am pleased to see your delivery system worked this time.”

Bruce, who is also standing nearby, frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

“Several weeks ago I attempted to order one of these pizzas to the compound, but it never arrived,” Thor explains. “Terrible disappointment.”

“Did you call the pizza place and follow up?” Bruce asks.

“No,” Thor says, shaking his head sadly. “The owner had seemed so excited over the phone as well—I have no idea what happened.” He pauses in thought. “Nice man—older fellow. What was his name… Stefan? Stuart? St—”

Peter drops his plate onto the floor with a splat. “STANLEY?!”

“Ah yes!” Thor says brightly. “Stanley! Wonder what happened to him…”

“You owe me a hundred bucks, Thor!” Steve calls over from the sofa.

“That was your pizza?!” Sam turns on him. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever eaten!”

**[Cut]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're almost there! The conclusion is going to be coming together in the final chapter, but we would love it if you could take a few moments to leave a comment with your current theory below!
> 
> Thanks so much!


	4. The Climax

“Told you there was a simple explanation to your mystery pizza man,” Ned remarks.

Ned and Peter are once again standing in the Interrogation Chamber. Ned is in the process of taping each of the suspects’ freshly spray painted dick drawings to the wall while Peter sadly erases Stanley’s whiteboard.

Peter groans. “I really thought he was gonna be the big breakthrough.”

Ned scoffs. “But turns out he’s just a ninety-six-year-old pizzeria owner from Albany who drove over an hour to drop Thor’s pizza off because he ordered from the wrong location.”

“Poor Stanley—I’m glad Steve at least tipped him well,” Peter says as Ned affixes the final drawing to the wall. “Alright, where do you want to start?”

Ned walks over to Pepper’s drawing. “Given Pepper’s testimony, alibi witnesses, lack of motive, lack of access, drawing style, and overall personality, I feel we can definitively rule her out as a potential suspect.”

Nodding, Peter removes her picture from the board and drops it back into his manila envelope. “I think the same can be said for Thor,” he says. “No convincing motive, he seemed legitimately confused by the whole prank in general, and he clearly is used to dicks of a higher caliber.” He points to Thor’s now elegantly framed drawing, which is resting on the floor, leaning against the wall.

“Besides, he knew too much about that season of Survivor not to have watched it,” Ned points out. “My mom confirmed all of the juicy gossip he shared.” He removes Thor’s photo and slides it into the envelope as well. “Also…”

Ned reaches up to detach Loki’s picture and both boys shudder as he drops it in. “Even though we couldn’t arrange with SHIELD to have him participate in the trial, I feel we can rule him out.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, “especially after he told us exactly where we could stick the spray can.” He shudders again.

“I think Happy can go too,” Ned says. He pulls his picture from the board. “Besides his lack of motive and improbable access, his dicks have no personality.”

“He was so fast though,” Peter argues. “Like”—he makes a motion in the air, quickly outlining an imaginary dick—“fwoop, fwoop, fwoop, done. Seemed so professional.”

Ned dangles the photo over the envelope, giving his friend a skeptical look. “Can you really see him doing this though?”

Peter heaves out a sigh. “No, not really.”

Ned drops the picture. It slides into the envelope with the other rejects. “Now onto Sam.”

“He was totally copying,” Peter says with an eye-roll. “He even leaned over and asked Clint a question about ball size when you weren’t looking.”

“Plus, I do believe that’s him on the mall footage,” Ned says as he takes Sam’s picture off the board and drops it into the envelope. “Despite what he may have claimed, it just wasn’t him.”

“And for a multitude of reasons, I think Steve can go as well,” Peter goes on. “He clearly can’t work a spray can.”

Ned hums thoughtfully. “Eh, I don’t know though. It got him out of the trial… maybe that was his plan all along.”

“He nearly blinded himself!” Peter shoots back.

Ned shrugs. “He’s got super healing.”

“So do I!” Peter argues. “And it doesn’t make things hurt less—they just heal quicker. I can’t imagine him purposely shooting himself in the face with paint just to get out of drawing three dicks.”

“Fine,” Ned gives in. “Plus, I guess if he had gotten the pizza from Stanley, he wouldn’t have had time.” He drops Steve’s picture into the envelope. “Natasha.”

Peter groans. “I don’t know, man… she’s an enigma.”

Ned moves closer to examine Nat’s drawing. “If this trial proved anything, I think it’s that she’s messing with us.” He points at her first dick on the page and then to Clint’s. “They’re identical—down to the tiniest details.” He points at the second dick and compares it to Pepper’s. “These two as well—I don’t even know how you can copy this one. And then the cat? It’s like Nat’s just flexing on us.”

“And she still has an unconfirmed alibi and potential motive,” Peter agrees. “She’s gonna have to stay.”

“Unfortunately,” Ned sighs.

Peter moves to the next drawing. “Dr. Banner now.”

“He seemed unsure with the spray can,” Ned says. “Honestly I was worried for a second we were gonna have another Steve situation on our hands…”

“See, that seemed a little weird to me though,” Peter says with a frown. “I have seen him spray paint things in the lab before—last time it was a part for a robotic arm Tony was building. He looked pretty competent then.”

“Painting something a single color and drawing an image are two different things,” Ned argues.

Peter sighs. “And then there’s his strongly confirmed alibi of being sick, so…”

Ned slips Bruce’s photo off the board and drops it into the envelope. “And now onto the main suspect here. Clint Barton.”

“Definitely knew what he was doing with the spray can,” Peter says. “Also, aside from Happy, he was the fastest artist and his dicks match the ones at the crime scene.” He gestures from the vandalism photos to Clint’s sample drawing.

“Yeah but we knew that already,” Ned says. “The vandalism was done in Clint’s style—which is plastered all around the compound. So either it was him or someone framing him. We’re back to exactly where we were before.” He flops sadly down onto the nearest chair. “I think we might have to entertain the possibility that Stark was right all along.”

“So that’s it? You’re giving up?” Peter says frustratedly. “We still have no actual, tangible evidence that Barton committed this crime and we’re just overlooking that fact? I thought it was innocent until proven guilty.”

Ned scoffs. “Maybe in court _,_ but this is Stark’s own compound. The same rules don’t apply.”

“Well they should _,_ ” Peter snaps. “If you can prove reasonable doubt, then you can’t convict. That’s how the law works, and that’s how this should work too.”

“Look,” Ned says wearily, “the thing is _someone_ had to have done this, and given our options, Clint seems the most likely suspect. Reasonable doubt isn’t enough.”

Peter sighs in resignation. “So we have to find the true culprit if we’re going to clear Barton’s name.”

“If it’s even _possible_ to clear his name…”

**[Cut]**

The documentary resumes, showing both boys sitting on top of the desk, Ned facing one direction and Peter the other, staring at the evidence surrounding them. In addition to the red string, there is now blue string, green string, and yellow string connecting various boards in such a web that they can barely move.

“Every time I blink, I see dicks,” Ned mutters.

Peter rubs at his eyes tiredly. “This case is haunting us.”

Slowly, Ned gets to his feet. Crumpled, discarded papers on the floor crunch under his weight. “It’s like one in the morning. I say we throw in the towel. Tomorrow we tell Barton we’re giving up.”

“ _No_ ,” Peter groans. “We can’t let it end like this—we’ve come too far.”

“Look around, Peter,” Ned retorts. “We’ve been staring at this mess for hours and we’re no closer than we were five days ago. If we end it now, we at least have a few days left of spring break. And Nat said she’d teach us how to throw those ninja stars…”

“Alright, fine, you’re right.” With another groan, Peter stands and starts moving toward the door as Ned approaches the camera. But just before his friend can flip the switch, Peter stops dead in his tracks. “Wait a second,” he whispers.

“What?” Ned asks, turning to look at him.

Peter points to a photo of the crime scene and then back to Clint’s drawing. “There’s something different here!”

“They’re completely the same,” Ned groans. “We’ve been going over this all night.”

“No!” Peter insists. “The splatter!” He points to a spot on the left hand side of Clint’s first trial dick, just at the base of the shaft.

“So?” Ned frowns, moving back over to the board. “That’s what spray cans do when you first shoot them.” He gestures to the other participants’ trial samples. “All of these have splatter wherever the person started drawing.”

“But it’s on the wrong side!” Peter exclaims. “Look at this.” He points excitedly at one of the crime scene dicks. “The splatter is on the _right_ side over here—not the left. Meaning the vandal started drawing their dicks on the opposite side!”

Ned peers closer. “Huh,” he remarks.

Peter points to Clint’s trial dicks. “In every one of these, Clint started on the left-hand side, went up the shaft, over the tip, and down to the balls. Clockwise.” He points back at the crime scene photos, indicating the splatter marks. “But the vandal’s splatter is always on the _right-hand_ side.”

“That’s… huh. That’s weird,” Ned says. “But that doesn’t _prove_ anything…”

“It does though! It’s like his signature! You can use handwriting samples as evidence—why not dick drawing?”

“Does anyone else start their dicks on the right?” Ned wonders.

With renewed vigor, both boys start examining the spray painted artwork. Each drawing contains at least one spot of splatter, with the notable exception of Thor’s.

“So it looks like Happy started at the bottom of the dick,” Peter remarks, pointing at a spot between the two balls. He moves to the next paper. “And Pepper started at the tip!”

“Sam started on the left, at the base of the shaft,” Ned says. “Same as Clint.”

“ _And_ same as Nat,” Peter points out. “Even though she drew three different styles, she _always_ started on the left. Which only leaves…”

The boys direct their gaze to the final drawing, the only one with splatter on the right-hand side.

“Dr. Banner!” Ned gasps.

**[Cut]**

This time filmed on cell phone camera, the documentary follows Peter as he creeps along the dark hallway down to the compound’s Medbay.

“But what if someone is in there?” Ned protests as he films. “Like an on-call doctor.”

“Then we make something up,” Peter whispers. “Fake a stomach ache or something. It’s called acting, Ned.”

“But what if they catch us hacking into the medical database? Mr. Stark will never let me in his compound again.”

“If this helps us catch the vandal, then I think he’ll be all for it,” Peter retorts. “C’mon.”

Quietly, he pushes the door open and they sneak into the infirmary. The camera darts shakily throughout the room as the boys glance around. It appears to be deserted—all the beds are empty and there are no doctors or nurses in sight.

They creep over to the main computer system. Peter shakes the mouse to wake it up and the monitor comes to life.

“It’s asking for a password,” he says quietly. “Do you think you can hack in?”

Ned sighs. “I mean, probably, but…”

“Awesome.” Peter holds out his hand expectantly. “Here, give me the phone.”

The camera transfers from Ned’s hands to Peter’s. The two change positions so that Ned is in front of the computer and Peter is filming.

“Clint had better appreciate this,” Ned mutters as he clicks keys.

While Ned attempts to break into the system, Peter pans the camera around the dark facility. After a few moments, Ned whispers triumphantly, “I’m in!”

Peter spins the camera back to him. “Sweet! Now just pull up the records from February 22nd. Is there anything for Banner?”

Ned types in the date and an appointment list pops up on the screen. “There were two appointments that day. One at 10:00 am for Pepper. It says”—he squints at the monitor—“a gynocol—”

“Don’t open that!” Peter says quickly.

“—and the other is at 1:15 for Banner.” Ned clicks the box, and skims over the information. “It says he was examined by the on-call physician and diagnosed with norovirus. They administered an IV, prescribed an antiemetic, and then Banner was released with instructions to rest.” He sighs. “Yeah, no, this all looks legit. I guess he really was sick.”

“Who signed it?” Peter asks.

“Um…” Ned looks closer. “Someone by the name of Dr. Khismiass. Ever heard of them?”

“Khismiass?” Peter questions. “No, I don’t think so…”

Ned frowns. “Wait, say the name again.”

“Khismiass,” Peter repeats. “What about him?”

Ned huffs humorously. “That sounds so close to ‘kiss my ass’—bet he had a hard time on the playground growing up.”

Peter gives a half-laugh. “Yeah, that is kinda funny. How long has he been employed here?”

Typing the doctor’s name into the system, Ned pulls up his employment records. “It says he started… February 22nd, 2019.”

“That’s the day of the vandalism!” Peter gasps. “Oh my god, does that mean—”

“What are you boys doing in here?”

The light flips on and both teenagers startle sharply. Ned instantly closes out of the system as Peter spins around. The camera—now at an awkward angle—lands on Bruce, who is standing in the doorway with a puzzled look on his face.

“Stomach ache!” Ned blurts at the exact moment that Peter blurts, “Headache!”

Bruce raises his eyebrows at them. “What?”

“Um… Ned has a stomach ache and I have a headache and we wanted something to take for it,” Peter quickly covers as Ned shoots him a sideways glare. “Couldn’t find the light switch.”

Bruce narrows his eyes. “And you were on the computer because…?”

“We were just checking the pharmacy inventory,” Peter goes on. “See which shelf we should be looking at. Um, for antacids.”

“And painkillers,” Ned throws in.

Shaking his head slowly, Bruce sighs. “Honestly with the amount of candy and Red Bull you two have consumed over the past few days, I can’t say I’m surprised you’re not feeling very well. I can make you some more tea—”

Peter cuts him off. “Actually, I think we’ll just go to bed now.”

“Are you sure?” Bruce asks, frowning. “Because it’s no trouble. I’m up anyway to get my research samples out of the incubator…”

“Yeah, I think I’ll feel better if I get some sleep,” Peter insists.

“Me too,” Ned agrees.

“Goodnight, Dr. Banner!” Peter says as they head for the door.

“Bye!” Ned calls over his shoulder.

**[Cut]**

The scene changes to Peter’s bedroom at the compound. Both he and Ned are in the shot now, Ned sitting on the bed in a daze while Peter paces the room excitedly in front of the camera.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god...” Peter breathes. He’s clutching his hair in his hands. “ _Holy shit,_ Ned.”

“Does this mean what I think it means?” Ned asks in awe.

“That Dr. Khismiass was also in the building that day?” Peter gushes. “That it really was an outside job all along?”

“God! _Enough_ with the outside job theory,” Ned groans, throwing his arms up in frustration. “I’m saying there _was no_ ‘Dr. Kiss My Ass’! Bruce made him up—he’s been faking this entire time.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “You’re saying he wasn’t sick _at all?”_

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“But everyone confirmed it,” Peter protests. “Even people who weren’t _there_ confirmed it.”

“The only thing we can confirm is that Dr. Banner is full of bullshit,” Ned concludes with a scoff.

“But multiple people attest to seeing him throw up at breakfast that day! How would you fake that?”

Ned huffs, “I don’t know, but I’m sure he could have found a way. And if he wasn’t really sick, then his whole alibi collapses.”

“But for what _motive_?” Peter stresses. “He and Mr. Stark are really good friends. There’s no conceivable reason why he would do this. And to frame Clint? No way. Banner is just too… _nice._ ”

“We have to look at the whole picture here,” Ned says. “Why else would Dr. Kiss My Ass be entered into the system the same day that he supposedly examined Banner? And then not seen after that?”

Peter sighs. “I don’t know, but…”.

“And remember how Steve placed Banner in corridor 5B at 5:00?” Ned goes on. “We thought that _confirmed_ Banner’s alibi, but it actually just confirms he was in the hallway, which puts him right outside the mainframe.”

“ _Being sick,_ ” Peter insists. “Which Steve confirms.”

“Steve didn’t _see_ _him_ being sick that time though,” Ned argues. “And without an alibi, he had plenty of time and full access.”

“This is all circumstantial though,” Peter argues, “which is the same problem we have with Clint. And we still have no motive. Without actual hard evidence, we can’t prove that Bruce did it any more than we can Clint.”

Ned smirks. “I can think of one place we might be able to find some evidence.”

“What?” Peter scoffs. “You wanna break into The Hulk’s bedroom or something?”

Ned’s smirk widens into a grin.

Peter shakes his head firmly. “Oh hell no.”

**[Cut]**

When the scene resumes, Peter is visible on Ned’s cell phone camera once again as he hides just behind a bend in the hallway outside of Bruce’s quarters.

“What time is it now?” Peter whispers.

“6:43,” Ned whispers back. “The sun should be up any minute.”

“Meaning so will Banner,” Peter replies.

They wait another minute or so before the silence is broken by the sound of the door creaking open. The camera moves to capture the back of Bruce’s figure as he walks away from them down the hallway in bare feet and sweatpants, carrying a rolled-up yoga mat under his arm.

“We’ve got, what, an hour?” Ned asks quietly.

Peter hesitates, glancing nervously down the empty corridor. “You know what? I changed my mind. I don’t wanna do this.”

“C’mon man,” Ned pleads. “We’re so close to solving this thing.”

“But we don’t even know that we’re gonna find anything in there.”

“Exactly! That’s why we need to look,” Ned encourages. “And remember, this is for a good cause—the cause of justice!”

Peter groans. “Let’s just get this over with.”

After double checking that no one else is around, Peter creeps to the door, the camera following close behind. Carefully, he turns the handle and pushes it open before he steps inside, followed by Ned, and quietly shuts the door behind them.

“This feels so wrong,” Peter murmurs as he gazes around the simply furnished bedroom. “This guy helps me with my homework and I pay him back by breaking and entering…”

Panning the camera around the room, Ned asks, “Now if you were an evil mastermind, where would you hide your super secret dick drawing plans? The underwear drawer?”

“I am not looking in Dr. Banner’s underwear drawer!” Peter hisses. “This is a total invasion of privacy!”

“Oh, and reading his medical records wasn’t?” Ned challenges.

Peter rolls his eyes. The camera follows him as he begins searching the room. He starts with the closet, which doesn’t yield much of interest—only clothes, shoes, a few lab coats, and a fold-up bicycle. He moves on to the desk.

“What are we even looking for?” Peter questions as he rifles through papers. “A note that says, ‘I, Dr. Bruce Banner, committed this crime’?”

“I mean that would definitely _help_ ,” Ned scoffs. “But, I don’t know, just anything that could be used as evidence.”

Continuing his search, Peter starts opening desk drawers, pulling out papers and flipping through them.

“Anything yet?” Ned asks.

“No, this is all just scientific journals and old magazines.” He holds up a small card with balloons on the front. “Here’s a birthday card from someone called ‘The Grandmaster’, whoever that is.” He tosses the card back into the stack. “Yeah I’m not seeing anything helpful here.”

“Pity,” Ned says. “Maybe near the bed?”

The bed has been freshly made, the covers pulled tightly over the mattress without a wrinkle in sight. Peter checks under the pillow and finds nothing before moving to kneel down in front of the nightstand drawers. There’s an array of mundane items inside, ranging from books to chargers, but nothing stands out.

“This isn’t going anywhere,” Peter says. “Whatever we’re looking for, I don’t think it’s in here.” He goes to push himself back up to standing but knocks a pencil off the top of the nightstand as he does. It falls to the floor and rolls away under the bed.

“Great,” Peter mutters. With a sigh he drops back down to the floor and lays on his stomach to look under the mattress. “Aw, it rolled all the way under...”

“Then go get it,” Ned says. “You’re a spider—you can crawl.”

“That’s not how this works...” Peter mutters irritably, but crawls in anyway. A moment later, there’s a gasp. “I think I found something!”

“What?” Ned questions. “Dirty socks?

“Even better.” Peter’s arm sticks out from under the bed triumphantly, clutching a spiral bound notebook with the image of a very angry-looking Hulk smashing a car on the cover.

Ned gives a half-laugh. “You found Hulk merch in Hulk’s bedroom?”

Peter grins. “Yeah, he got it from Clint during a Secret Santa gift exchange last Christmas. It’s kind of an inside joke around here.” He flips the book open, then instantly gasps. “Holy shit!”

“What?” Ned pulls the book into view and gasps as well.

On the first page, there’s a photo of a dick drawn in Sharpie on Cap’s shield, printed from the Avengers’ group chat. But the real shocker is that every inch of the surrounding page is covered in pencil drawings that appear to be attempts at copying that dick. Flipping through the book, these images continue for the next several pages until at last, the pencil dicks look identical to the Sharpie one in the photo.

“Jackpot,” Ned whispers.

**[Cut]**

Back in the Interrogation Chamber, the camera is positioned to show both Peter and Bruce as they sit on opposite sides of the desk. Bruce has his legs crossed casually while Peter appears tense, a look of nervous excitement in his eyes.

“Thanks again for agreeing to a follow-up interview,” Peter says.

Bruce nods. “Of course—always happy to help. Are you two feeling any better today?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Peter says quickly. “Anyway, we just have a couple more questions for you.” He glances back over his shoulder at the room’s entrance. “Mr. Stark?” he calls.

Bruce’s casual look falters slightly as the door creaks open and Tony enters the shot. The mechanic moves over to the vacant chair beside Peter and takes a seat.

“Tony?” Bruce questions. “What’s going on?”

Tony’s expression is grim as he reaches into his suit jacket and produces the Hulk-themed notebook. He tosses it onto the desk. It slides dramatically across to rest in front of Bruce.

Bruce frowns as he picks up the item and starts flipping through the pages. “What is this?”

“Oh, I think you know _exactly_ what this is,” Tony says coolly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking abou—”

“Cut the bullshit, Banner,” Tony snaps. “We know it was you. You faked sick to get out of going to that fundraiser with me, giving you an ironclad alibi and access to the garage at the time of the crime. You hacked into FRIDAY’s systems through a backdoor in the coding, which _you yourself_ helped me create, and erased her security footage. You drew the dicks on my cars, and my suit, and you framed Barton to take the fall for your fucking crime!”

“Tony, c’mon, you can’t honestly believe this...” Bruce pleads.

“Oh, no?” Tony says, snatching the book back and flipping it open. “I shouldn’t believe all these pages of practice dicks, drawn in Clint’s style?” he demands. He flips to the next page. “Or this blueprint of the compound with FRIDAY’s mainframe circled and a path drawn to the garage?” He jabs his finger at another page. “Or this recipe for fake vomit printed off a movie props forum?” He slams the book back down on the table with a huff. “I know it was you, Banner. My only question is... _why?”_

Bruce takes a long, deep breath. In a voice that is the epitome of calm, he begins. “Oh, you couldn’t figure out why?” He laughs humorlessly. “With that genius IQ of yours, you couldn’t figure out _why_?”

Tony stares at him for a minute, looking puzzled. Then all of a sudden, it seems to dawn on him. “Oh my fucking god… is this seriously about that mural?”

“Of course it’s about that mural!” Bruce snaps, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Peter’s face screws up in confusion. “Mural?”

“It was just supposed to be a joke,” Tony explains. “For Bruce’s birthday—a gag gift. It was Barton’s idea. He had me hire some street artists to paint a mural of Hulk lifting weights on the gym wall.” He turns to face Bruce again. “But you agreed it was funny!” he accuses the scientist. “You _laughed!_ ”

“Yeah, well what else was I supposed to do, Tony?” Bruce retorts angrily. “This stupid gag has been going on for years. First it was just Hulk coffee mugs and Hulk posters and the occasional Hulk t-shirt, and then it was on the towels and bedspreads and fucking cardboard cutouts in my fucking shower!” He bangs his fist angrily on the desk, knocking a cup of pencils to the floor. “The Hulk is the worst thing in my life and you painted him on the fucking wall!” He grabs the notebook back from Tony and hurls it against the original ‘WHO IS THE AVENGERS VANDAL’ whiteboard on the opposite side of the room.

There’s a green-tinged vein in Bruce’s neck that is bulging with each heavy breath. Peter pushes his chair away slightly, looking wary.

Tony just blinks at him. “So… you painted dicks on my cars? And framed Barton? Just to get back at us?”

Closing his eyes, Bruce takes a few deep breaths. The green fades from his skin. “You two were being dicks,” he says simply. “So I painted dicks.”

Tony stares at him for a bit. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, almost apologetic. “I… I didn’t know you felt so strongly about this.”

“Well I do,” Bruce huffs. “And now you know.”

Tony nods solemnly. “Alright. Then I’ll have FRIDAY call in someone this afternoon to repaint the gym.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Peter stares at the two men beside him, mouth agape. “THAT’S IT?!”

“What’s it?” Tony questions, frowning at the teenager.

“You kicked Mr. Barton to the curb for this! And you find out Dr. Banner was your culprit all along and you’re _fine with it_?”

Tony shrugs. “Well he’s right. We were being dicks.”

“Unbelievable…” Peter mutters, shaking his head at Bruce. “You made us tea—we trusted you.”

“Speaking of that,” Bruce says. He turns to look at Peter, eyes narrowing. “How exactly did you find that notebook?”

Eyes widening, Peter turns to stare in Ned’s direction, making a frantic gesture with his fingers in front of his neck.

The camera cuts to black.

**[Cut]**

The documentary comes to an end on the compound’s home theater system. The lights switch back on, revealing all the assembled inhabitants scattered about the living room on various couches and chairs, looking stunned.

Peter and Ned move over to stand in front of the screen.

“Well?” Peter asks excitedly. “What do you think?”

Clint instantly turns on Bruce, who is munching popcorn in a chair in the corner. “What the fuck, Banner?” he demands. “I nearly got pneumonia standing out there in the rain!”

Bruce tosses a kernel into the air and catches it easily with his mouth. “Well you didn’t, did you?” he says smugly.

“I can’t believe you weren’t sick…” Steve mutters, shaking his head slowly at Bruce. “I carried you to the bathroom! You were so pale...”

“Yeah, we _saw you_ getting sick that morning—what about the ficus?” Happy demands.

Bruce shrugs. “It’s amazing what you can do with makeup, some leftover Chinese food, a couple cans of Coke, and a blender.”

“Forget the ficus,” Clint cuts in. “What about all the new underwear you had me bring to your room?”

Tony looks questioningly at the archer. “You brought him underwear?”

“Yeah, I’m a nice guy, Tony!” Clint snaps back irritably. “Not that you would know.”

Rhodey is cracking up on the sofa beside Bruce. “Doctor Kiss My Ass!” he wheezes. “Just when I thought this prank couldn’t get any better!”

“What about all the moaning and retching noises coming from your bathroom?” Sam questions.

“The key to any good performance lies in the details,” Bruce says knowingly. He takes a casual sip of his chai tea. “I had an audio tape playing on loop for the retching whenever anyone walked past. The moaning was real though—I was stuck on a level in Angry Birds.”

“I can’t fucking believe this…” Clint mutters, shaking his head. “All because of Hulk merch?”

“I asked you to stop multiple times, and you didn’t,” Bruce says simply. “I figured this was preferable to letting The Other Guy handle it, which he nearly did after that last birthday party.”

“You have to admit though,” Clint scoffs, “that Hulk Chocolate Smash cake was delicious…”

“So wait…” Natasha turns to look at Ned and Peter. “You never actually ruled me out, did you?”

Both boys shrug. “You had a strong case against you,” Peter says.

“And a weak alibi,” Ned throws in. “Were you really in the gym that day?”

“Of course.” She smirks. “I never skip hula hoop day.”

Sam has his arms crossed over his chest. “Also, I would just like to point out that I am not _fifty_ …” he grumbles. “I only turned forty last year!”

“Yeah,” Happy scowls. “And you thought I was an _alien_?”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “At least they’re not questioning whether or not you have a bladder.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Peter says, a bit sheepishly. “Got a little carried away that night…” He turns back to address the group. “Um, thanks again to everyone who assisted us in this investigation.”

“Definitely our most memorable spring break,” Ned agrees.

“I have to admit, the whole documentary was very well done,” Tony remarks to the boys.

Suddenly, Thor, who’s been sitting quietly this whole time, bursts into laughter. “I get it now!” he exclaims. “You were right—dicks _are_ funny!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click on to the next chapter for outtakes and deleted scenes!


	5. Outtakes & Deleted Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Outtakes and deleted scenes from Ned and Peter's documentary.

**[Cut] 1**

The following scene is filmed on FRIDAY’s surveillance:

“Tony, I don’t understand! What did I do?!” Clint begs as he backs away from a very pissed-looking Tony. The billionaire’s expensive suit is rumpled and his tie is hanging loosely around his neck, the Iron Man gauntlet aimed at the archer’s face. “Just tell me what this is about!” Clint pleads.

“You know exactly what this is about, Barton!” Tony seethes, steering the other man towards the front door and nearly missing it by a few steps. “Now get out! Get the fuck out!”

“If this is about the dishes I left in the sink, I swear I was getting to them! I just—”

“The dishes?!” Tony demands furiously. Glowing, the gauntlet whirs to life. “You think this is about the fucking dishes?!”

“I don’t know what this is about!” Clint insists. He stumbles backward over the doorstep. “I swear, I—”

“Tony?” Bruce asks as he steps into the shot. He looks pale and is hugging a trash can to his chest with one arm, the other braced against the wall. “What’s going on? Why’s Clint outside?”

“Bruce, please help! He’s drunk, he—” Clint is cut off when Tony slams the door in his face, locking the archer outside in the pouring rain.

“Shh Brucie, everything is handled,” Tony assures, a mild slur to his words, as he turns back to the bewildered-looking scientist. “Go back to bed, you shouldn’t be up in your condition…” he says, breathing heavily.

Bruce frowns at him. “Are _you_ okay?” he asks, seeming to notice how Tony is slightly swaying as he stands.

“Yeah, yeah, long night, had a few...” Tony mutters, eyeing the trash can. “Hey, can I borrow that?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabs the can and immediately pukes into it.

When Tony’s done, he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and passes the can back to Bruce, who is just staring at him. “Thanks,” he rasps.

“Uh, no problem,” Bruce replies as the other man turns and walks away down the corridor.

**[Cut] 2**

Peter is sitting at the desk in the Interrogation Chamber, his original Skype call with Barton in progress.

He begins, “Please state your name for the rec—”

“Meehhhh!” He’s cut off by a loud bleating sound from off-screen.

Peter frowns at the webcam. “What was that? Was that a sheep?”

“No, that’s just Cooper’s goat,” Clint says tiredly. “He’s doing 4H this year, trying to enter it in the county fair. Goddamn animal is gonna be the death of me…”

“Okay, let’s just re-do that shot,” Ned says from behind the camera. “From the top. Action.”

Peter tries again, “Please state your—”

“Mehhhhhh!” the goat interrupts.

Rolling his eyes, Clint makes a ‘go on’ gesture at the laptop.

“Please st—”

“MEHHHHHHH!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, BOB!” Clint hollers in frustration.

**[Cut] 3**

From behind the desk, Rhodey is doubled over, shaking in laughter. Tears are streaming down the corners of his eyes and he’s to the point that barely any sound is coming out.

The camera swivels around to Peter, who is sitting on the opposite side of the desk, arms crossed over his chest and doing a very good impression of Tony’s unamused look.

Ned sighs. “Are you ready now, Colonel Rhodes?”

“H-He even put one on the s-suit!” Rhodey spits out between giggles. “The SUIT! Look at the sky kids!” he roars. “Is it a bird?! Is it a plane?! No! It’s IRONDICK!”

“...I’ll take that as a no,” Ned replies as Peter just covers his face with his hands.

**[Cut] 4**

The scene begins with Peter walking backwards down corridor 5B with Tony and the camera following behind.

“Alright, this is where it all began!” Peter says excitedly. “FRIDAY has footage of Mr. Barton leaving his bedroom at 4:50 pm, so we’re going to attempt to retrace his steps, following the proposed timeline of the crime! Right now we’re approaching the—”

Tony yelps, “Watch the—!”

There’s a crash as Peter trips backward over something and falls to the ground, smashing the ornate-looking pot under his weight.

“...plant,” Tony finishes.

“Nice, Peter,” Ned remarks from behind the camera.  

Peter glances down at the pieces of broken ceramic. “Um… that wasn’t expensive, was it?”

Tony waves his hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he mutters. “But also probably don’t tell Pepper.”

**[Cut] 5**

“I just wish we knew how Nat got revenge on Mr. Stark…” Peter sighs.

Ned shrugs. “Let’s ask around.”

[The scene cuts to a montage of short clips]

 **Pepper Potts:** “I really don’t think we need to get into that, Peter,” she says with a frown.

 **Bruce Banner:** "Um..." He coughs uncomfortably. "I'd really rather not say."

 **Happy Hogan:** “I’ll tell you when you’re old enough.”

 **Colonel Rhodes:** “There are pranks, and then there’s just torture,” he says grimly. “Nat walked a fine line...”

 **FRIDAY:** “I’m afraid I’m under strict orders not to show that footage to anyone, under any circumstances,” the AI’s voice comes over the speakers. “Boss threatened to dismantle my servers.”

 **Sam Wilson:** “Nope,” he says, shaking his head as he backs away from the camera down the hall, eyes wide. “Nope.” He shudders. “And nope.”

 ** **Thor, Son of Odin:** **"Natasha and my brother would make worthy opponents," he says solemnly.

 **Clint Barton:** “Let’s just not go there.” There’s a beat. “Ever.”

 **Steve Rogers:** With a faraway look in his eyes, the soldier whispers, “God help us all…”

**[Cut] 6**

Peter and Ned are standing in the middle of the Interrogation Chamber. A mess of colorful strings is joining photos, names, and timelines from various boards around the room.

“Go left,” Peter instructs as Ned wheels one of the interconnected whiteboards closer to the bulletin board. It rolls sideways and the string pulls taught, ripping Tony’s headshot photo off. “No, I said left!” he groans.

“I went left,” Ned retorts irritably.

“The other left then!” Peter snaps.

Ned heaves out a sigh. “Which left do you want? Your left or my left?”

“I don’t know, just not that left.”

“Fine,” Ned huffs. He moves the board the other direction and it pulls the screenshot of Sam’s #boughtsomepants Instagram post off of a different board. Peter leaps forward to grab the fluttering paper, but trips on the web of strings and falls to the ground, Stanley’s whiteboard crashing on top of him.

From beneath the board, Peter mutters a pained, “Not that left either…”

**[Cut] 7**

In the Interrogation Chamber, Ned is standing at the bulletin board as he writes out the case against Nick Fury. “So for motive, we have, ‘working with these assholes’, and for alibi, we’ve got ‘jack squat’,” he says, taking another bite from his Twizzler.

“Maria Hill!” Peter suddenly gasps, jumping up from the desk he’s been sitting on. The second his feet hit the ground, he farts loudly.

“Nice.” Ned rolls his eyes. “I told you bean dip was a bad idea.”

Peter gives a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“You know this room has no windows…”

**[Cut] 8**

The following scene is filmed on FRIDAY’s surveillance:

Ned is sitting at the breakfast bar, hunched over his mug of tea, elbows propped on the counter as he blinks at the steaming liquid. Peter, meanwhile, is pacing manically back and forth across the kitchen floor. When he passes by, Bruce hands him the other mug.

Peter goes to take a sip, but just as it reaches his lips his eyes widen. “Ant-Man!” he gasps, slamming the mug back down on the counter.

“Scott?” Bruce asks with a frown. He picks the mug back up and follows Peter as the kid paces toward the oven. “What about him?”

“He was under house arrest for like, two years!” Peter goes on. “That’s enough to make anyone salty enough to draw dicks!”

Ned looks up tiredly from his tea. “Wasn’t Clint also under house arrest?”

“That’s irrelevant.” Peter waves him off.

Bruce places his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Peter, sit down and drink the tea, please,” he says with a sigh, steering him back toward the empty stool.

“But he can get real tiny!” Peter protests as he sits down beside Ned. “He could totally have snuck in!”

“He also lives in California,” Bruce points out. He sets the mug back in front of the kid. “Now drink. It’s four in the morning.”

Peter sobers. “Okay okay, sorry,” he agrees. He raises the mug to his lips again but stops just short. “But he can fly!” he exclaims. “On the ants!”

Rolling his eyes, Bruce reaches out his hand to tilt the tea back to the kid’s mouth, forcing Peter to take a sip. “Shhh, Peter. Enough.”

Peter chokes the drink down with a cough before lowering it again. He peers into the cup with a frown. “This is kinda nice, actually,” he remarks. “I don’t usually like tea.”

“I get it from an Indian grocery store in the East Village,” Bruce explains. “Calms your nerves.”

“Hm,” Peter hums. He lifts the mug back to his lips and drains it in two gulps before setting it back on the counter. A moment later, his eyes droop and then he slumps sideways against his friend.

“Whoa!” Ned yelps as he catches Peter’s limp form.

Bruce steps closer and helps maneuver Peter to rest his head on the counter instead. “Yeah, I thought that might happen…” he mutters.

“What was in that tea?” Ned asks in alarm.

“Nothing, only tea and a bit of milk,” Bruce insists. “You’re just witnessing the mother of all sugar crashes.”

The two haul Peter to his feet and start shuffling him out of the kitchen.

“Maybe it was Groot…” Peter mumbles.

“Groot?” Ned questions.

Peter lets out a quiet giggle. “Because he’s a _tree_ nager…”

**[Cut] 9**

The camera pans around the gym and takes in the group of spectators standing in a semi-circle and holding glasses of champagne, their gaze directed at the wall in front of them. Tony and Thor are positioned in front of a large white sheet hanging over where the Hulk mural had previously been.

“In light of recent events,” Tony begins, “we’d like to present the new and improved training facility mural!”

 _“Please don’t let it be a dick… please don’t let it be a dick,”_ Ned mutters under his breath from behind the camera.

With a flourish, the billionaire whips the cloth from the wall.

Rather than Hulk lifting weights, the wall has been painted over to show an extremely muscular and shirtless version of Dr. Banner, majestically riding a golden Asgardian chariot.

“...What on earth?” Bruce gasps.

Smiling broadly, Thor steps forward to give the scientist a hearty clap on the back. “I have painted you victorious in battle, my good friend!” he announces. Gesturing to the two enormous mountain goats pulling the wagon, he adds, “These are my trusty companions, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr!”

“Aww,” Steve says with a smile. “I didn’t know you had goats, Thor.”

“Ah yes,” Thor confirms, “they have saved me many times. Whenever I am famished after long voyages, I cook their flesh and eat them—”

A collective gasp issues from around the spectators. Peter in particular looks horrified.

“Serves them right…” Clint mutters.

“—and in the morning, rearrange all the bones and skin to resurrect them with my hammer,” Thor concludes brightly.

“Well shit,” Tony remarks.

“Thor, it’s um, I mean, it’s really uh, artistic, but…” Bruce waffles. “I thought the whole point was to get me _off_ the wall.”

Tony frowns at him. “You said you wanted _Hulk_ off the wall.”

Bruce covers his face with his hands and sighs.

“What are these scrolls here?” Clint asks, peering closer at the mural. There’s a leather bag crossed over Bruce’s bare chest which is filled with rolls of paper.

“Those are his seven PhD’s, of course!” Thor explains.

Bruce downs his glass of champagne in one massive gulp before turning on his heel and walking out of the gym, snagging the remains of the bottle from the ice bucket as he goes.

**[Cut] 10**

The following scene is filmed on FRIDAY’s surveillance. The date stamped in the bottom right corner of the footage reads 04-26-2019:

Pepper storms into Tony’s lab furiously waving an official-looking document. “Tony!” she demands as the mechanic looks up from his project. “Why did I just get a letter from the Louvre thanking me for the donation of something called ‘Thunder Cock’?”

“Well, you said you didn’t want it _here_ ,” Tony retorts. “What else was I supposed to do with it?”

**[Cut]**

**Author's Note:**

> This story took over a month of blood, sweat, and tears, along with killing off quite a few of our brain cells along the way, but it's finally complete!!
> 
> Please let us know your thoughts in the comments—we really appreciate getting feedback on our work :D
> 
> Come and hang out on tumblr if you want: [whumphoarder](https://whumphoarder.tumblr.com/) & [awesomesockes](http://awesomesockes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Oh, and happy April Fools!


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